


Remember Not to Forget

by ChocolateSyrup



Category: Coco (2017)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 15:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 60,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14405040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateSyrup/pseuds/ChocolateSyrup
Summary: Miguel isn't sure if Héctor survived the Final Death, but Héctor wants to make sure he knows…despite the risks of getting stuck in the Land of the Living after sunrise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to post this here, too :)
> 
> I absolutely love this movie, and I've had this idea since I first saw it when it came out, only just now getting around to writing it. 
> 
> This idea came to me hearing a certain line as Miguel's family is taking him across the bridge for the first time: 'Please remember to return before sunrise.' We know what would have happened to Miguel if he had stayed in the Land of the Dead after sunrise, but what would happen to Héctor or any of the others if they stayed in the Land of the Living after sunrise?
> 
> The title comes from the Audiomachine song "Remember Not to Forget." I seem to have a habit of naming my stories after songs xD
> 
> I'm not Mexican, so apologies if I get any details or words wrong; I'm going to try and go by what's in the movie to be safe, but will also do research if I need to. Please correct me if you find any mistakes!

Héctor had lost count of the many years he'd attempted to cross the bridge, but every single year that he had failed to see Coco was worth it for the one night he was able to be with his family and daughter, and to be able to hear his great-great grandson play one of the most beautiful songs he'd ever heard.

 _"In every beat of my proud_ corazón," the ending lyrics rattle Héctor's bones as he strums along with a glowing guitar of his own, and for the first time they don't fall apart as they once had when they were so fragile. Coco had remembered him and Miguel had put up his photo _,_ passing down his stories from Coco herself, and his mended clothing and new shoes created just for him help keep them together, as well. His bones themselves aren't as faded but a more refined white like Imelda and his family, a sign that he was indeed being remembered.

"I wish I could thank you, Miguel," he whispers as the song ends completely and he stops playing at nearly the same time as Miguel, watching the boy join the rest of his family to eat at the outside table. He rests the same, more physical white instrument by his side and the skeleton smiles, glancing down at his hands that hold the spirit version of the guitar; the instrument glows brightly as Héctor moves forward to put it back in its place. "I wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for you."

Before he can fully merge the spirit guitar with its physical counterpart, a hand grabs him lightly by the shoulder.

"And I'm glad you're here," a voice just as beautiful as the song says next to him. Héctor turns to see his wife, and Imelda gives him a smile that was becoming more frequent as the days passed by—joy that they were finally together, and that she had forgiven him at last.

Ever since her (surprising) day of forgiveness, Imelda made an effort to let Héctor know he had been missed even amid her anger towards him, and to show love and appreciation as if to make up for the bad times when he had disappeared from her life. Much to Héctor's surprise, she nods down at the spirit guitar he still holds.

"You don't have to put it back," she says with a small smile. "Music is a part of our lives again thanks to that boy, and you shouldn't have to give up your passion for it...or a possession as prized as this one."

Héctor gapes at first, unsure of whether he should agree. But he can tell Imelda is sincere and that she means it; if it was the other way around, she would under no circumstances even suggest keeping a musical instrument, and her hands would be on her hips along with a stern expression—neither of which are present.

If skeletons were allowed to keep foods they brought back from the Land of the Living and offerings from their relatives, then he could surely bring back his beloved guitar. He smiles up at Imelda, holding it closer to his chest. It would be just like old times now when it had been just the two of them and music, and nothing else in the world mattered.

"You're right...if only we could thank him," Papá Julio agrees. "But it's not possible until he..."

Héctor cringes at the thought.  _Until he dies and joins us._

Well, he was not looking forward to that day at all just so he could say two simple words to the boy.

Héctor turns his gaze back to the living family eating dinner at the table...well, except for his great-great grandson. Miguel stares down at his plate full of countless tamales from his  _abuelita_  Elena that she wouldn't allow him to refuse, his expression giving away that he was no longer with the others, but lost in a far off place of his own; perhaps thinking of certain events that had happened only a year earlier on this same night. Héctor wishes more strongly that he could somehow comfort Miguel, but he knows all too well that it's impossible, that the living can't see—much less  _touch_  the dead—and his own expression sinks along with his grandson's. Still, he can't help himself and chuckles lightly when he spots Miguel sneaking a certain, hairless spirit guide a tamale or two when Elena isn't looking.

But Miguel's  _abuelita_  is smart, and slaps his hand gently away from grabbing another for Dante with a glare.

The boy had been so happy moments before now that he could play Héctor's guitar without getting in trouble, or getting cursed. The whole family, living and dead, had listened with unbridled joy and pride at Miguel's talent. Now, it was the complete opposite. Héctor suspected that Miguel must be worrying about what had happened after Mamá Coco had remembered her father. Or had he been too late, and had Héctor given into the Final Death? The worry and uncertainty was all too apparent.

"May I be excused?" Miguel asks, his tone soft and polite. But underneath his manners, his Papá Enrique could tell that something was amiss. Dante barks, wagging his tail and hoping for another treat, but Miguel ignores him no matter how adorable the dog tries to act.

"Is something wrong,  _mijo?"_  Enrique asks with slight worry.  _Día de los Muertos_  was a night to celebrate, after all. Why would there be any room for sadness? He was able to play music in front of everyone now and even Elena, who was more accepting of music than she had ever been before.

"No," Miguel assures with a little smile that make Hector's restored bones want to break again. "I...I just want to be alone for awhile with Mamá Coco and the others."

His mother Luisa smiles softly in understanding while holding his baby sister close to her chest, nodding and allowing her son to leave the table, heading towards the ofrenda room. Héctor stares on, and his nonexistent gut tells him to follow and bring comfort to Miguel. Coco had recently passed away, joining her mother and father in the afterlife, and emotions ran high in the Rivera family as they celebrated her life. But before he can move forward, Héctor feels a small grip on his hand and glances down to see Coco herself smiling up at him, and she points back towards the rest of their deceased, spirit family who stare back at him expectantly.

A few moments of silence pass before Héctor gives in.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" He asks, lifting a hand to try and feel if there was any food stuck to his bones.

"Time to go back... _Día de los Muertos_  is over," Imelda says gently.

Already? It couldn't be! It felt like the night had only just begun. Héctor doesn't want to wait another year that would crawl slowly by, but he knows they have no choice. He stares in the direction where Miguel had gone towards the ofrenda room, wishing more than anything that he could provide his great-great grandson comfort that he had survived the Final Death.

"Just five more minutes?" He pleads with a pouty face and shining, big puppy dog eyes almost as adorable as Dante's.

But Imelda puts her foot down. No matter how much Miguel ached to actually see his family on the other side, it just wasn't possible unless they all wanted to put their afterlives in danger. "You know we can't be out after sunrise."

Héctor sighs, defeated. Once Imelda made up her mind, there was no arguing with her, and he knew that better than anyone.

 _Please remember to return before sunrise,_  he could clearly recall the reminder as he had made his way over the bridge for the first time. It wasn't just Imelda and her made up mind, but the fact that they had no choice but to go back or risk facing the consequences...whatever those were. He didn't really have any idea what would happen if they stayed out in the Land of the Living after sunrise, and he didn't want to find out.

"Come on, Dante," Héctor says, his tone dull with disappointment that they had to go. Dante whines, trailing with his ears drooping and tail between his legs as Héctor leaves the Rivera household along with Imelda and the rest of the family. Héctor gives Dante a small smile, understanding passing between the two that neither wanted to leave Miguel so soon, and keeps a good grip on the spirit guitar.

A certain small and gray cat  _meows_  and darts ahead of the two, reluctantly leaving Miguel's grandmother scratching her behind the ears. Elena notices Dante and Pepita leaving, but otherwise doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. She faintly wonders why the dog seems so upset, but gives a smile at the cat's proud stance though it seems a bit forced, like she's trying to hold back tears.

"You know, I've only seen that dog once this year," Elena murmurs thoughtfully to herself. While she had grown more accepting of strays since Miguel had come back home, she couldn't say that she would miss Dante if he ended up not returning anytime during the rest of the year.

xxxx

"What happens if we stay out after sunrise?" Héctor asks, his curiosity getting the better of him as the departed family makes their way back across the bridge. Other families follow their lead, smiling widely after a fun celebration with their relatives. Marigold petals beneath their feet shine brightly with each step taken, and Hector can't help but glance back over his shoulder; night was just about ending, and soon it would be morning—a time that forbid the dead to be outside in the Land of the Living.

"No one knows for sure," Tía Rosita explains with an uneasy shrug. "It's kind of a spontaneous, unpredictable thing. One thing could happen to one person, and another thing could happen to another person."

"There was once a rumor about being turned into  _alebrijes,"_  Tío Felipe adds in.

Oscar shakes his head at his brother's crazy idea, and Pepita snorts as the cat walks faithfully besides Imelda. Dante barks twice as if in agreement and leaps over the entrance to the Land of the Dead, rainbow wings sprouting as he transforms back into his spirit guide self, and Pepita into her gigantic, colorful winged  _alebrije_  form. The group stares at the dog suspiciously, but only until he flaps his wings and attempts to hover in place. Even after a year, he was still—understandably—getting used to flight. Héctor rolls his eyes and the family continues to venture across, but he stops. Gazing back across the Land of the Living again, he can't help but picture Miguel leaving his family at the table to go into the ofrenda room.

"Or it could be similar to what almost happened to Miguel," Tía Victoria says. "All we know is that it's dangerous."

"Héctor?" Papá Julio asks, noticing that he isn't following and turning back around just as they are about to end their journey. Héctor cringes at his name but remains silent, staring at the boundary between life and death.

"I'm going to stay a little longer, if that's alright with you…" Héctor says slowly, knowing that Imelda isn't going to like the idea.

The group gasps, eyes widening, but Imelda sighs as if she already had an idea of what Héctor was planning, her gaze resting on Coco. Her daughter simply smiles, already understanding Héctor's hesitation to come back across the bridge, but Imelda wasn't so sure it was a good idea.

"Héctor..."

Héctor understands. He'd been gone for so long from Coco's life and now when they had finally been reunited, he was just going to leave her again?

But he wasn't exactly  _leaving._

"There has to be a way I can tell him," Héctor says, determination beginning to build.

"He can't see or hear us anymore," Papá Julio reminds him gently with slight disappointment running in his tone. Disappointment yet understanding that they were dead, and Miguel was living—the living did not have the ability to see the dead when they visited on this special night, no matter how much they wanted them to, and Héctor was beginning to understand better than anyone.

"I know, I know. But I want to at least... _try._  He deserves to know; I don't want him to spend the rest of his life worrying and wondering if I made it." It had already been a year!

"You understand that you have to be back before sunrise?" Imelda asks, inwardly scolding herself for starting to give in. But if anyone in the living world deserved to see the dead, it was Miguel. He had brought her husband back into their family as he rightly deserved, and Héctor deserved to at least try and tell Miguel that he had made it, that he had been in time before Coco would have lost her memory of him forever.

Héctor nods more forcefully this time, his excitement obviously getting the better of him, yet still making direct and sincere eye contact with her. His wife was giving in! "Just like Miguel had to be back before sunrise. Don't worry, I got it," Héctor reassures her.

Imelda blinks at the parallel, but her bones relax at his words that showed he did indeed understand. Hesitantly, he reaches his guitar towards his wife for her to take. Imelda stares at the spirit instrument for a moment or two before she sighs and gives in completely, taking the shining guitar from Héctor.

"I'll come back soon," he says to Coco, hugging his daughter with a love that knew no bounds. Coco hugs back with a force just as strong, and Héctor regrets it when he has to let go. "I promise,  _mija,_  I will never leave you again. Miguel needs me. He needs to know I'm okay somehow."

"I understand. I trust you, Papa," Coco says in return without any hesitation, much to Imelda's surprise. Though it had taken herself years to overcome her anger and distrust towards her husband, Coco was the complete opposite; she loved her father and that was it. Nothing could untangle that strong love a father gave his daughter, nor the other way around, and a stab of shame shoots through Imelda.

 _He's still here,_  Imelda thinks in another attempt to calm herself down.  _He won't leave again._   _Not for music—not for anything._

"And Héctor?" Imelda stops him before he can take another step. He turns back around, stopping himself from fidgeting with impatience. He didn't have time for his wife's protests!

"Take Pepita with you," she orders sternly, and the giant  _alebrije_  has already transformed back into her normal cat form as she crosses over again. Dante was one thing, but she could trust Pepita to bring her husband back safe and sound; they didn't need too many at risk of getting stuck on the other side. Héctor grins, rushing back towards the Rivera home. Dante barks, tail wagging wildly as he leaps over the boundary as well and also transforming back into his normal, hairless dog form.

"Dante, get back here!" Imelda shouts to no avail. Dante ignores her, eager to see Miguel one last time before the night ends completely.

xxxx

"We did it, Papa Héctor," Miguel says quietly to himself in the ofrenda room, standing in front of the ofrenda itself that now has a mini version of Héctor's guitar propped on top. His family is still outside, enjoying what's left of dinner. No matter how much Miguel had wanted to join in on the festivities, it seemed that his spirit wasn't up for any more celebrating other than singing the song he had written for this special occasion. He grips Héctor's real guitar tightly for comfort.

"We made it. We put your photo back up, and you survived the Final Death...at least, I hope you did," Miguel's words slow. Truth be told, he was unsure if Héctor had 'lived' to see another day in the Land of the Dead. Had he been too late to try and make Mamá Coco remember? Miguel had no idea, and the thought of _what if he hadn't made it_  was unsettling, refusing to leave his mind. What if Mamá Coco had passed away with the memory of her father only to find out that he wasn't there because she had almost forgotten him?

Miguel knows that he most likely won't find out until he dies, and the thought makes him sick to his stomach. Would he be left wondering until the end of his days?

The ofrenda room door creaks and Miguel jumps in surprise, but relaxes when a small, black nose peeks into the room.

"Dante!" Miguel laughs, instantly knowing who the nose belongs to. Dante skips towards Miguel and the boy kneels to the floor, hastily but gently setting the guitar down with care and wrapping his arms around the dog tightly in an almost suffocating hug.

"I missed you, Dante," Miguel says, stroking the hairless dog affectionately. "Now that you're a real  _alebrije,_  you can only come on  _Día de los Muertos_ like them."

Dante whines, pushing his nose into Miguel's chest and closing his eyes, cherishing the short amount of time left that they had together. A little  _mewl_  interrupts the moment and Miguel glances back up to see a certain cat peek her head inside along with Dante.

Miguel smiles at the newcomer and gives Pepita a scratch behind her ears, her favorite spot where he knows his grandmother likes to pet her. "I missed you too, Pepita. I never really got a chance to thank you for getting me out of that sinkhole, or rescuing me from De la Cruz."

Pepita purrs in response to Miguel's strokes, arching her back. Little does Miguel know that a third spirit has entered the room.

"Okay, how are we going to make this work?" Héctor asks himself, bringing his hands to his head to help him think harder. Time was running out, and he...had nothing. Absolutely nothing that could possibly help Miguel see him, or at least let him know that he was  _there._

His guitar is the first thing that comes to mind, and he bends down to try and touch its strings...only for his glowing, bony hands to serve as a reminder that he's not able to touch anything in the Land of the Living, going straight through. He had already taken the guitar's spirit form anyway, so it wasn't like he could try to play it any harder than he already had to get Miguel's attention.

Maybe he should have thought this through better...what if coming here again was just a waste of valuable time?

Pepita moves from Miguel to Héctor, winding around his legs in a figure eight motion. She knows Imelda won't be happy if something happens to Héctor, so she does her best to make him hurry, pawing at his newly mended pants.

The boy tilts his head in confusion at Pepita's actions, almost like she's trying to get someone else's attention. He'd known throughout the night that his spirit relatives must be there with his living family—he'd felt their presence, their love in a way that his other family members couldn't—he knew for  _sure,_  as he had been to the Land of the Dead himself. He just hadn't been sure about  _Héctor._

Héctor himself notices Miguel's confused expression at the way Pepita wraps around his legs, and an idea sparks in his mind. Yes! Why hadn't he thought of it before?! Alebrijes could be seen by both the dead  _and_ the living while in their normal animal forms, so why wouldn't he be able to use them to his advantage?

"Dante, come here boy," Héctor says in an excited tone to get the dog's attention. Unsurprisingly it works, and Dante barks with his ears perking straight up. Héctor kneels, allowing him to come closer with Pepita remaining close by. Hesitantly, he reaches a hand down to try and pet the dog, and unlike the guitar...his hand doesn't go through, able to make physical contact in the living world with a spirit guide.

Dante leans into the invisible person's touch and Miguel frowns, confused at the sight of the dog and cat seemingly being pet by someone he couldn't see. Héctor's other hand glides along Pepita's back, and she has no choice but to purr and give into his gentle touches.

Miguel scoots closer to the two, curious as to why Pepita was still purring even though he was no longer petting her. No one was there...yet the closer he looks, Miguel sees Pepita's gray fur somehow being moved slightly back and forth by an invisible hand.

But just because he couldn't see whoever was petting Dante and Pepita, didn't mean that they weren't actually  _there._

It hits Miguel like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on top of him.

"Dante, Pepita...are you trying to show me that...that  _he's_  here? Right now?"

Dante barks and Pepita  _meows_  in excitement at Miguel's revelation, and the boy smiles wide. He looks past the two where Héctor is still kneeling, and the skeleton can almost feel a chill pass through his body when their eyes 'meet.'

"Holá,  _chamaco,"_  he says fondly with a wave. "I'm still here. I survived the Final Death, thanks to you."

"So you're still here, Papa Héctor," Miguel repeats unknowingly with a relieved laugh that echoes around the room, unaware of his similar words and uncaring that it was a bit awkward it seemed no one else was with him. If any of his family stepped in, they'd think he was crazy! But none of that matters. "I wasn't too late!"

Héctor grins, wishing more than anything that he could give Miguel a hug, but touching the living was just as impossible as trying to communicate without an  _alebrije_  like Dante or Pepita. The answer to their problem had been a surprisingly simple one that Héctor hadn't realized could work—using  _alebrijes_  to get the attention of the living. The downside was that they they still couldn't be seen, but just Miguel's knowledge of his being there was good enough for Héctor. Now Miguel didn't have to worry!

"Mamá Coco remembered you in time," Miguel reassures himself, bright eyes never leaving where he thinks Héctor's are. "I kept my promise."

"I got to give her the biggest hug," Héctor says, wanting to confirm that he had given Coco the big hug he'd wanted—definitely the best part of the night besides actually getting to spend time with his living family for the first time.

But he gasps then as an ominous feeling sweeps through his bones—a feeling of warning that time was running out. Looking down at his hands, Héctor notices that the bright, spirit glow that surrounds the dead in the Land of the Living has dimmed just the slightest bit.

"Dante? Is something wrong? Is he hurt?" Miguel asks when the dog whines in concern, and Pepita hisses unexpectedly to try and make him hurry. The dim glow reminds Héctor all too well of the Final Death, and he doesn't want to stick around any longer to find out if something similar happens past the deadline.

"Not yet  _chamaco,_  but I gotta get back and soon," Héctor murmurs to himself. Dante barks again, pointing his nose in the direction of the half-opened door, the sun just beginning to rise, and Miguel's eyes widen in realization.

"You gotta get back!" Miguel says in a rush, wishing he could shove his great-great grandfather out of the room. Still, Héctor hesitates; he doesn't exactly want to leave Miguel when they had just figured out a way to communicate through Dante and Pepita.

"I feel better now that I know you're okay. Don't worry about me," Miguel assures him with a smile. "Go back home."

Héctor blinks, recalling how he'd said the same thing to Miguel upon the sun rising before De la Cruz had almost ruined everything. His hesitation leaves him, and he gives Miguel a sad smile.

But even though their time together had been too short, now he knows his great-great grandfather is okay, and that's enough for them both.

xxxx

The fading night air is cool and refreshing against his bones, and Héctor walks quickly with Dante and Pepita by his side. He glances every which way at the numerous families and ofrendas still outside. There were fewer now that the night was almost over, but some wanted to stay as long as they could with their loved ones even though they had to cross the bridge. A young skeleton child begs her mother to stay longer with her Papá, but the mother shakes her head and the child bows her head in disappointment; Héctor can't help but empathize with her.

"Almost there," Héctor murmurs to himself as skeleton, dog and cat continue to make their way back to the Land of the Dead. "At least Miguel knows I'm okay, now."

Dante suddenly growls unexpectedly, pinning his ears back against his head. Pepita hisses, the hair on the back of her neck standing up.

"What is it?" Héctor whispers uncertainly, stopping in his tracks. Dante points his nose in the direction of a nearby headstone. He knows it's most likely not a good idea, but Héctor steps forward anyway, wanting to know what had caused Dante to react so viciously when it seemed that nothing was there...

Except a shadow that reminded him of his Frida Kahlo costume.

"It's only Frida, you two," Héctor says to try and calm Dante and Pepita. They don't let up their growling and hissing in the slightest, and Héctor instantly brings his head back up to get a closer look at who he _thought_  was Frida in the dress. Now that he thinks about it, the  _real_ Frida hardly ever had any time to see family in the Land of the Living.

"Wait...hey, you stole my idea," he accuses sharply to who he now knows is  _definitely_  an imposter. "How come it worked for you and not for me?" That bridge must still hate him!

Dante growls again more loudly this time, and Héctor has to hold him back from lunging right at the Frida imposter. He's too slow and Dante takes hold of one of 'her' arms, and to Héctor's surprise and unease, it breaks in the dog's grip all too easily. He steps back, eyes widening as 'Frida' comes into full view from the shadows, forcing 'her' arm back into its rightful place. Now that the imposter is standing out of the shadows, what little is left of the moon's glow reveals an enemy that Héctor had never wanted to see ever again—his  _murderer._

"It's good to see you, old friend," an all-too familiar voice says. "I see you survived the Final Death, unfortunately."

Pepita attempts to make a run for it now that danger is all too palpable, to try and warn Imelda and the others—when a separate pair of hands grabs her by the scruff of her neck, lifting her away from her captor's body so she's not able to scratch his bones and break free. Dante yelps, whining as yet another pair of hands grabs him forcefully around his waist to stop him from attacking again.

"Ernesto!" Héctor shouts when it becomes clear, taking a step back. "But the bell...h-how did you—"

How did he even cross the bridge? But Héctor realizes that Ernesto is still well-remembered by the world, thus enabling him to cross over. How he'd gotten past security was another question entirely; there was no way that the police would have simply let him cross the bridge after what he'd admitted on camera to the audience. The bell had taken care of imprisoning the man so the police didn't really have to do anything, but now he was  _here..._

Héctor feels cruel for even thinking it no matter if it was his worst enemy...but Ernesto should have been crushed and  _stayed_  that way. His bones are stuck together with who knows how many pieces of duct tape so he doesn't fall apart, and while he was still remembered, they were slowly beginning to dull over. Ernesto's stare shoots straight through Héctor like he's a ghost, and he can't help but gulp nervously.

"Let's just say that there were a few willing fans who would do anything for me, even after what I'd done. You know, the die-hard fans that could never admit their idol had done something...wrong," he says with a grin, nodding towards a group of extra skeletons emerging from the shadows and taking off his Frida costume with relief to reveal familiar, white musician's clothes underneath.

The hairless spirit guide growls and snaps to no avail, and yelps sharply when he's squeezed tighter. Pepita's struggles cease as she realizes that while in her normal cat form, it's useless to try and fight back, let alone against such a large group of people that would only stop her escape.

Héctor's face crumples in astonishment. How dare he take advantage of fans so loyal to him like that? But then again, he's not surprised Ernesto would sink so low if he was a man willing to murder his best friend.

"You don't even have any proof of what you said he did," the unknown man says in defense of his idol. Héctor realizes that this man—and any others that Ernesto may have dragged into this mess—must not have been at the foiled De la Cruz concert when Ernesto had spilled the beans about his murder. Either that, or they actually  _had_  but as Ernesto said, did not want to believe that the person they so admired could do something so horrible.

"H-he said he did those things," Héctor sputters, "he  _admitted_  it! Why did you wait until now?" He questions sharply to Ernesto, realizing that the man must have been in hiding for an entire year. Why did he have to choose  _Día de los Muertos_  of all nights?

"Any other time of the year would not have had as much meaning as tonight, no matter how much I wanted to pay a little visit earlier," Ernesto explains with a grin that he can't help. The night he had waited so long for was finally here and it was almost over, the time he had been waiting for the  _most._ "Besides, it  _did_  take some time to get out from under that bell."

"You deserved it for taking me away from my family. For stealing my songs," Héctor grunts, not caring how much more angry his words will make the former greatest musician. "Miguel made sure that Santa Cecilia knows, and soon the whole world will know, too."

"And you deserve something much worse," Ernesto growls back, his tone becoming darker by the second.

"Take him," he says harshly to his group of fans, shoving Héctor into their arms. They gladly do the dirty work that Ernesto is unable to in his broken state from the bell. They grab hold of his joints so he can't try to fall apart and come back together to escape, and Héctor can only manage small, insignificant struggles that won't help his situation.

Héctor can only stare into the many unforgiving eyes as Ernesto orders them to drag him through the Land of the Living, back towards the bridge.

xxxx

"He should have been back by now," Imelda says, worry deepening across her features. The family waits for Héctor to return by the edge of the bridge, but still there's no sign of him and Imelda wants to hit him with a shoe when he gets back for making her worry once more. Then again, maybe the spirit guitar that he'd left behind with her would do a better job.

"Look!" Tía Rosita suddenly gasps, pointing ahead. Oscar and Felipe squint to see two shapes struggling, and Tía Victoria frowns deeply when she spots an odd and startling sight—a mob holding none other than their family member they had been waiting for.

"It's  _him,"_  she seethes as Ernesto comes into view at the front of the group. Imelda finally notices as well, her unconscious breathing picking up speed.

"How did he get past us without us noticing?" Papá Julio asks in distress, but his question is answered when a different group of skeletons approach from behind. There's too many to fight off like they had before Imelda was lifted on top of the stage, and security was only down at the end of the bridge to help those returning.

"Stay where you are," Ernesto growls.

Imelda attempts to step forward anyway, but Héctor shakes his head, desperate not to have any harm come to her. "N-no," he manages to get out. He'd fallen limp in the group's tight grip, knowing that it was useless to fight back. His wife stares on, horrified at the man gripping Pepita by her neck.

Horror changes to anger and in a split second she raises the spirit guitar Héctor left behind to try and whack the man on his head, but before she can even lift her arm, another hand grabs hold and forces it out of her grip as she's distracted by Pepita's struggles.

Ernesto smiles at the small cat's strained yowls, creeping forward past the boundary into the Land of the Dead. The others in the group stay behind, and Héctor has a sickening feeling what Ernesto's plan is, the other man holding Dante following his lead. The poor dog is forced to transform back into his colorful, shining alebrije self. The second man holding Pepita lifts her just over the boundary to stop her from changing back into her larger form, knowing that if she changes back their plan will be ruined.

"There is one other reason why I chose tonight out of any other day of the year," Ernesto explains eagerly, and the helpless family gasps. "It has to do with sunrise, similar to what would have happened to that  _mocoso malcriado_  if he had stayed any longer than after sunrise. Except this time, no one knows for sure what will happen...which makes it more exciting. But I have a pretty good idea."

Everything had been going so  _well._  Héctor had gotten to cross the bridge with Coco to see their family. He'd helped Miguel know that he was safe and sound, though now that was far from the truth. Why Ernesto had ordered the group to drag him all the way back to the bridge was all too clear by the horrified expressions on his family's faces that told him one thing: Ernesto wanted Imelda to watch as he forced his former best friend to face the sunrise that was creeping closer by the minute.

"Let him go, you monster," Imelda demands, refusing to plea to a man who would revel in her fear if she even thought of showing it. "Haven't you done enough damage already?"

Ernesto's expression darkens, and the single word he says next almost makes Imelda feel like her nonexistent heart has skipped several beats.

"No," the single word leaves his mouth.

The group releases Héctor and rushes forward where they will be safe, across the boundary between the living and the dead. Ernesto smiles widely as Héctor drops helplessly from their grip, barely having enough time to try and run forward along with the others.

"No!" Imelda repeats Ernesto's single word in a panicked scream, reaching out her arms as if to try and grab her husband. The die-hard fans of Ernesto hold her back, overwhelming the family and she kicks out to no avail.

The man holding Dante makes the mistake of letting the dog go now that he thinks his task is complete, and the dog focuses his sights on the monster ahead.

"Stay back! Get away!" Dante ignores Ernesto's command and growls, the  _alebrije_  leaping forward directly towards Ernesto. Howling in anger and despair, he pumps his wings fast enough before they disappear to catapult the man over the boundary in the same direction as Héctor. Furious, the former greatest musician of all time takes the opportunity to kick Dante directly in his side.

"Dante!" Héctor calls in distress as the dog is flown farther from the bridge, but the  _alebrije_ turned regular dog doesn't get up. He sees Imelda wrestling with the decision to try and save the dog, to try and bring him back over the boundary. Héctor shakes his head frantically, not wanting her to risk her own afterlife. She can't do anything anyway with Ernesto's fans holding her back; any attempt to save either of them is futile!

Pepita flails her claws in another attempt to fight back, but her captor only holds her farther away from himself to avoid being scratched and holds onto her neck tighter.

Héctor glances behind Ernesto the best that he can, and his eyes widen when he sees the bright, golden sun beginning to peek out.  _No, no, no. We can't be outside!_

The man yelps when the glow of the sun just barely touches his bones, and he has no choice but to drop Pepita in the Land of the Dead. Gray fur changes into green, gold and red, and the man knows he's made a horrible mistake when he's faced with a set of large teeth and a  _roar_ that sends him running in the other direction, but not for long before he's caught by security and rightfully apprehended.

The last thing Héctor sees when he barely has enough strength to lift his head is his daughter—his sweet, precious daughter Coco—looking onwards with the most horrified, heartbreaking expression he'd ever seen as police surround his family and the group of loyal De la Cruz fans.

Pained screams cause him to look over his shoulder in the other direction.

Gray dust surrounds Ernesto's body and enfolds his bones completely. It's like the complete opposite of the Final Death with no golden light to surround him, and was anything but peaceful as his screams of terror rattle the early morning.

"W-what's happening?!" Ernesto yells, his face crumpling from anger and hate into what seemed like blinding agony as his bones begin to dissolve.

"Staying out after sunrise can have unpredictable consequences," Héctor explains without sympathy, and Ernesto glares in response despite his fear as the dust continues to relentlessly consume him...

Until there's nothing left of the man who had taken Héctor away from his family.

"Dante," Héctor says gently, crawling towards the limp canine. He raises his head slightly to let Héctor know that he heard, and that he's okay with a lick to the face. Héctor laughs weakly, assuming that the worst is over. Ernesto had gotten what he deserved, but the sun had spared them. They'd made it!

But his relief is cut short, and he knows he's assumed too soon. Dante whines when, like Ernesto, his body begins to disappear as well.

Glancing up to face the sun that has nearly completed its course, Héctor can only watch in despair as Dante fades, the dog whining and biting at his paws as if to try and stop the vanishing. But it's no use, and soon Dante is gone just like Ernesto, the only difference being that there wasn't any dust—one of the unpredictable consequences of staying out after sunrise.

"Papá!" Héctor hears the sweet, panicked voice of Coco yell.

He gasps, reluctantly getting up from the spot where Dante had disappeared. Pushing his legs to go as fast as they can, he rushes back towards the bridge when he suddenly looks up—and the horrible realization comes to light that the bridge is  _gone._  He can't see the orange-glowing marigold petals anywhere!

"Imelda? Coco?" Héctor tries desperately. But no matter where he looks—left, right, straight ahead where the bridge had once been—his wife and daughter are nowhere to be seen.

No one is there, and Héctor feels like a fish out of water when he realizes that he's still a skeleton in the Land of the Living. No, this can't be possible...he can't be out after sunrise, or else...what if someone saw him? But the living did not seem to take notice of the single skeleton in distress.

"I-I can't see you. I can't hear you!" He cries, reaching his bony arms forward as if to try and touch the invisible—but what good would touching the invisible do if he couldn't even  _see_  where the bridge was?!

He suddenly feels a sharp pain in his side and he takes a deep breath that he's not supposed to. A stinging sensation pokes and prods, akin to that of what he'd felt when he thought he had been poisoned by  _chorizo._  But he's not supposed to feel pain…not like  _this._  Skeletons in the Land of the Dead reacted subconsciously in situations where they could be hurt, like Imelda slapping Ernesto with a shoe or the bell falling on top of him. They couldn't breathe, yet continued to do so subconsciously even in the afterlife.

It was all supposed to be a subconscious thing, or so he'd thought…not  _real._ But the harsh and fast-pounding sensation in his chest proves otherwise.

"Papa Héctor?!" He thinks he can hear Miguel's voice close by, or is it far off in the distance...? But it's not possible, because Miguel can't see the dead in the Land of the Living.

Right?

He's not sure about anything anymore as his insides twist and turn, causing his entire being to burst aflame. Unable to fight the agonizing, burning torture worse than poison any longer, he feels himself falling face-first to the ground like the night he had been murdered.

 _What's happening to me?_  Héctor manages to question in his racing mind before everything goes black.


	2. Chapter 2

Miguel remains sitting, staring in awe at the spot where he thinks— _knows_ —Héctor may have been only a few moments ago, just unable to see him. Dante and Pepita have left, and while the boy feels sad that he won't see the  _alebrijes_ or have a chance to talk to Héctor until next year, he feels content now that he knows his great-great grandfather is okay, that he survived the Final Death. Miguel had been ripped away from him so suddenly as dawn had approached in the Land of the Dead that he hadn't been sure ever since, and the thought terrified him that Héctor may not have survived. But now he knows for sure, and a smile can't seem to leave his face.

"So...who were you talking to?" A voice speaks up inside the _ofrenda_  room. His smile fading, Miguel realizes that he may not have been as alone as he had previously thought, turning to see Prima Rosa standing in the doorway. Her arms are crossed, and she stares at him suspiciously. There was no way she could have known that Héctor was here, and he wasn't about to say anything about him lest he wanted her to think he was  _loco._

"What do you mean?" Miguel asks innocently, standing and picking up Héctor's guitar from the floor to lightly strum its strings. The gentle sound echoes throughout the room, but it doesn't distract Rosa from her question.

"I saw you come in here and heard you talking, but there was no one here other than Dante and the cat," she says, her eyes glancing back and forth as if to try and find the two. But Miguel knows that they must be back in the Land of the Dead by now; Héctor was back with their family—with Coco—where he belonged. The Final Death hadn't taken him—he was okay, and Miguel appreciated that he had managed to find a way to tell him. His worry is gone, and he can relax with the knowledge that he  _doesn't_  have to wait until he dies to find out if Héctor 'lived.'

Maybe even next year, Dante and Pepita could help them talk again, and excitement bubbles in Miguel's chest at the thought.  _Día de los Muertos_ was definitely going to be more fun to look forward to than it already was.

"Pepita," Miguel makes sure to remind his cousin about the cat. He had never seen the gray-striped feline himself before tonight, but he knew it had to be none other than the giant and winged  _alebrije,_ especially if she had come with Dante. He faintly wonders in the back of his mind how Dante is getting used to his own, new wings in the Land of the Dead, and has to hold back a chuckle thinking of possible falls and crashes.

"And how do you know that?" Rosa asks, her arms still crossed as if she's interrogating him rather than asking simple questions.

"What?" Miguel asks, just to be sure he'd heard right; her question grates against his mind that was having a bit of difficulty coming up with answers. There was no way he could explain how he knew Pepita's name, or why he had been 'talking to himself' without explaining where he had gone last year, and who he'd met. He hadn't exactly told the truth about where he had gone to any of his family,  _especially_  not his parents, and they hadn't bothered to ask where their son had been all night. Thankfully, his mother had reasoned that it didn't matter as long as they were together, and his father hadn't pushed. He'd been grounded as punishment for a week of course, but other than that they never gave it second thought.

"How do you know the cat's name? She's a stray like Dante, right? And why hasn't he been with you like he usually is?" Rosa keeps up her questions, and Miguel's shoulders slump slightly. Dante was a real  _alebrije_ now, and he had to stay in the Land of the Dead with the others during the rest of the year. He was only allowed to come on one night, just like them. It was odd not having the stray follow him like he had normally done—to not have a constant friend and companion with him, but there was nothing he or Dante could do.

"Why do you ask so many questions?" Miguel shoots back, his tone unintentionally harsh. His grip on Héctor's guitar tightens, and Rosa seems to notice that she had struck a chord the wrong way.

"I was just wondering," she says as she uncrosses her arms, her glasses glinting in the sun that's finally risen outside the door. "You've been really quiet tonight, you know? We just want to know that you're okay."

Miguel realizes that his parents must be the reason she had asked so many questions; he  _had_  skipped out on most of dinner to be alone with Mamá Coco as he had said. He hadn't expected to talk to Héctor, and must have been longer than he'd thought.

"...I'm fine," he reassures his cousin, his grip on the guitar loosening. She still doesn't seem to be too sure.

But he was better than fine—more than he had been all night. Now that he knew Héctor was okay, all of the worry that had tormented him previously was gone; it was just Prima Rosa and her annoying questions that brought a bit of the torment back.

Smirking, Rosa's mouth opens to ask yet  _another_ question just to annoy him, and one Miguel knows he can't avoid.

"So where did you  _really_  go last year? I know you went to Ernesto's tomb and stole the guitar that  _he_  actually stole." She points towards the guitar as she says the words, and Miguel hugs it closer to his chest. "But how did you find out that it wasn't actually his, apart from the torn picture that Mamá Coco had?"

Miguel's shoulders tense, but he makes sure not to give away his uneasiness by gripping the guitar again. One day, he would try and muster enough courage to tell his family about what had really happened last year, or even show them through Dante and Pepita when the time came. But for now, he wanted nothing more than to keep it a secret and not be seen as crazy when he didn't have any proof that the Land of the Dead really  _did_  exist.

Though now that he thinks about it, maybe he  _should_ tell someone...at least Prima Rosa, and in a way that wouldn't make it seem like he was crazy.

It might stop her from asking even more questions, and the idea wins him over. Carefully, he avoids the latter part of the question—just how had he known that the guitar belonged to their Papa Héctor aside from the photo and Mamá Coco's stories? He'd just taken the guitar like it was no big deal, like it hadn't belonged to the greatest musician of all time. He'd had to have known something beforehand—the tomb couldn't have been the only place he had gone all night.

"Do you  _really_  want to see where I went last year?" Miguel asks, and he can't help a knowing grin from stretching across his face to try and make her more intrigued than she already was.

Rosa doesn't expect him to agree, and blinks before nodding hesitantly. "Can you take me there?"

 _No._ The only way for the living to see the Land of the Dead was if they passed on or became cursed, and Miguel wasn't planning on doing either anytime soon nor his cousin, for that matter.

"Maybe," he settles with, shrugging and his knowing smile staying in place as he sets his grandfather's guitar near the  _ofrenda_ to be safe.

"Let's ask if we can go for a morning walk," Rosa says, nodding towards the open door. "I'm sure they won't mind if we help clean up the table first."

 _Día de los Muertos_ was one of the few nights they were allowed to stay up until dawn, after all, and they were far from tired.

xxxx

After a bit of convincing, his Mamá and Papá decided to allow the two of them to go on their walk, but only if Prima Rosa made sure to keep a close eye on him, and that he promised not to run away again. Miguel agreed to both conditions and as they walk through the cemetery where he leads Rosa, he finds it difficult for his thoughts not to stray back to the night of last year again.

He can easily remember the direction he had gone towards the bridge where their deceased family had first taken him, even if he had just gone through a fit of panic at what had been happening to him; it wasn't easy to forget something so out of the ordinary like getting cursed and seeing skeletons everywhere. He wasn't sure how the marigold bridge worked—if it remained where it was by the time daylight arrived or if it completely disappeared—but he can remember exactly where it would be nonetheless, even if they might not be able to see the bridge itself.

It obviously isn't what Rosa had expected as they approach the wall at the edge of the cemetery, fog covering what might be seen on the other side. Miguel realizes then that throughout the year, no matter what the weather or season it was, the fog always seemed to stay. No one ever really questioned the permanent fog in a cemetery, but it made a lot of sense now that he knew what was  _really_ on the other side.

Skeletons and the Land of the Dead (and even vitamins) actually existed, so why not a magic fog that would keep it all hidden from the eyes of the living, even if the living themselves wouldn't be able to see anything? Miguel figures that something had to hide what would most likely be just a blank space that would cause questions to arise.

"There's nothing here," Rosa says, disappointed and glaring from behind her glasses. "Are you trying to trick me or something?"

Unable to offer an explanation why he had brought her to the cemetery, Miguel can only shrug, staring at the grave _ofrendas_  around them—candle lights that are either already fading or beginning to dim in the sun's morning glow next to offerings left behind by the living. Most were empty by now; families had left since it was morning now, and some were just making it out of the entrance to go back home.

It was just the two of them, that is...except for an odd shape laying on the ground a few feet away. Though squinting and looking closer, Miguel can see that it's not exactly an odd shape, but a man who seems to have passed out face-first onto the ground.

His head is turned in Miguel's direction—eyes closed—and the closer he looks, the more Miguel begins to see that it isn't just  _any_ man, but that he feels he  _knows_ him.

Their own  _ofrenda_  flashes across his mind, and Miguel has to stop himself from falling over as the photo of Papa Héctor appears—no longer torn apart, revealing who was really holding Ernesto's guitar.

Is that...?

"Papa Héctor?!" He cries, immediately rushing towards the fallen man before Rosa can stop him. She calls out to him but he ignores her, kneeling besides the limp body.

No, it can't be his great-great grandfather, because Héctor is supposed to be... _dead._  But the person laying on the ground before him is...

The thought strays, because it just isn't  _possible._  His Papa Héctor couldn't be here in the Land of the Living, because he wasn't _living._

Yet here he was with  _skin_  instead of bones. He wears his familiar purple vest and brown pants along with his straw hat that lays to the side like it had fallen off at some point, a bit battered like it had been through a struggle. Miguel's heart picks up its pace, nearly pounding out of his chest at the thought that something—or  _someone_ —may have attacked the man that looks like Héctor at some point during the night.

De la Cruz comes to mind first, though Miguel doesn't see a way he could have gotten out from under the bell. But maybe he had figured out a way to escape, and the murderer had also figured out a way to actually touch the living, mistaking this man to be Héctor. A shiver runs down Miguel's spine at the thought, and he looks left and right to see if anyone else is nearby—a skeleton or even Dante and Pepita—but neither dog nor cat are anywhere in sight, and the cemetery is void of any skeletons.

His deceased family is nowhere to be found, and Miguel can only guess that they're on the other side of the bridge. Maybe they were watching them right now and just weren't able to do anything since  _Día de los Muertos_ was over...

"What do you mean 'Papa'?" Rosa asks, expecting yet receiving no answer from her cousin. Miguel ignores her, his eyes refusing to leave the man.

"How...?" Miguel murmurs to himself, trying to keep calm and failing miserably as his hands shake. "How is this possible?"

 _It's not him. It can't be him,_  his mind races.

"How is  _what_  possible?"

The questions from her just never seemed to end, but they no longer grated. Miguel suddenly realizes that he has a far bigger problem on his plate.

As far as he knows, no one in the entire world who has died ever... _came back to life._

Once a person was gone from the living world, they stayed that way, no matter how much they or their loved ones wished otherwise. Maybe there were miracles when it came to near-death situations, but not for someone who had been gone as long as Héctor.

"Come on Miguel, let's go back. He probably just had too much to drink tonight. He'll be fine in the morning," Rosa says, tugging at his sleeves to try and get him to leave with her.

"It is morning," Miguel reminds her, remaining rooted to the spot. He couldn't move even if he wanted to, like he was glued to the ground itself and unable to get up.

 _Sunrise._  Miguel's stomach drops as he realizes that Héctor must have been late getting back to the bridge, and had never made it across. Was it because of him? Had Héctor been late because he wanted to see him one last time before the night ended, to try and let him know that he was okay? The boy's breathing picks up at the realization, guilt almost overcoming his shock that Héctor himself is here in the Land of the Living. He's not a skeleton, but a living human just like him and Rosa...no, it  _can't_  be Papa Héctor. He has to be mistaking him with someone else!

"Let's  _go,"_  Rosa persists more sternly, but Miguel remains kneeling.

How could his cousin be so cruel? Even if it wasn't Papa Héctor, they couldn't just leave a stranger out in the open who needed their help. If this man really _was_  his great-great grandfather, Miguel absolutely wasn't going to just leave him behind, either.

The man's chest is falling and rising, a sign that he's actually, really  _breathing,_ but only barely...if they didn't do something and soon, there was a chance that he could...

Miguel doesn't want to think about that. Héctor may have died once before, but Miguel knows he can't let him die a second time. Not yet at least, if they could even figure out a way to send him back to the Land of the Dead  _without_  dying again...they needed to know what had happened that caused this, to make sure that the man really  _was_  Héctor in the first place. Miguel had experience with being cursed, but not like this—if it even  _was_ a curse.

The man resembling Héctor groans lightly in his unconscious state and Miguel flinches at the pitiful, weak sound, but otherwise the man doesn't wake.

"W-we need to get help," Miguel stutters, unsure of what else he can do.

"We don't even know him," Rosa argues, firm in her decision to leave the man behind.

Miguel frowns, but then realization dawns on him that of  _course_ Rosa wouldn't know who Héctor is, or even be suspicious of a man that shared so many similarities.

Just because his family had placed Héctor's photo on the  _ofrenda,_  it didn't mean that any of them would instantly recognize someone they had been trying to forget for decades. Maybe it was for the better considering their current situation, but it didn't make things any easier, either. Miguel would have to explain a few things, and he's not sure if his family would believe him, or even the two of them when Héctor woke up no matter if they had a photo to prove that a man had somehow come back to life. Sometimes he didn't believe himself that he had been sent to the Land of the Dead on the last  _Día de los Muertos._

But Rosa seems to understand that the two of them at least know each other when the man suddenly opens his mouth. In just the slightest movement, a single word comes out, and her eyes widen as she takes a step back.

_"Miguel..."_

His eyes widen along with his cousin's, the name that he had spoken confirming that  _yes..._ it was indeed Héctor, maybe recognizing the voice of his great-great grandson next to him even in his unconscious state.

"What happened, Papa Héctor?" Miguel whispers. His grandfather doesn't respond, seemingly falling deeper into unconsciousness.

"H-How does he know you? Why do you keep calling him Papa Héctor? They can't be the same person," Rosa demands, done with being ignored. "That's impossible. First you were talking to yourself, and now this...stranger is your Papá? You're crazy."

But he  _is_  the same person. Miguel is almost in just as much denial as Rosa, but he's  _positive_ now that the man had said his own name. He doesn't even care that she had called him crazy as he feared his family might do.

"Please, Rosa," Miguel begs, avoiding her hundredth question entirely. "Go get Mamá and Papá. Anyone. We can't just leave him here."

It finally hits Rosa just how important the situation seems to be, and how much the person means to her cousin as Miguel reaches a hand towards the man. With a new sense of urgency and to Miguel's relief, she rushes back towards home. His parents will know what to do!

Upon wrapping his hand around his great-great grandfather's, Héctor flinches unexpectedly like he'd been stung, unconsciously wrenching his hand away and his brow furrowing in apparent pain.

Miguel pulls his hand back apologetically, realizing how sensitive his new skin must be, and Héctor's pained expression lessens.

"Just hang on, Papa Héctor," he says quietly to his great-great grandfather.

xxxx

"He'll be okay, right Mamá?" Miguel asks his mother to ease his newly returned worry, tentative as he faces his parents for the first time since they had rushed Héctor to their home. Luisa stands outside the guest room that they had placed him in, and Miguel tries to see behind her, but she remains where she is as his Papá comes out of the room, as well.  _Abuelita_  remains by his side holding baby Socorro with one hand, her other hand on his shoulder as if to keep him from running off to avoid getting in possible trouble.

"Yes,  _mijo._ He'll just need to take it easy when he wakes up," Luisa answers, much to his relief. He sighs, and she tilts her head to the side in confusion at her son's reaction to someone he apparently knew—someone that they didn't know themselves, yet Miguel had almost demanded them to carry him here to their home all the way from the cemetery.

Miguel had stuck close by the whole way back, refusing to part with him until he had been forced to remain outside the guest room. She'd noticed how nervous he seemed as they carried the man through town in broad daylight, as if he was afraid someone would recognize him, and she glances towards her husband.

"How do you know this man?" Papa Enrique asks, rightfully suspicious of the stranger that they had brought into their home. He brings a hand to his forehead to rub the side, understandably tired from this morning's events and the apparent trouble that his son keeps getting into on a certain night; or morning as it was now. Why did it seem that these things were beginning to happen on  _Día de los Muertos,_ and that they had to do with his son?

Miguel pauses, blinking at his father's question and unsure of how to respond. He wants to tell his family the truth about Héctor, to show them the photo on the  _ofrenda_  up close so they could see that he was the same person and remind them of his great-great grandfather, but somehow he feels it's not a good idea.

Not yet. If too many people found out that Héctor had come back to life, he could end up being in danger from those who would want to know  _how._

"...He helped me get home last year," Miguel answers slowly, albeit nervous. Yet it wasn't too far from the truth and for all he knows, Héctor now needed  _his_  help to get back home.

 _Because of me. He wanted to come back here because of me, and now he's stuck in the Land of the Living with us,_ he can't help the blame that seeps through. He doesn't know what happened yet, but he must be part of the reason that Héctor is laying in the room now.

 _Abuelita_  gasps at the idea that Miguel had conversed with strangers the year prior, holding Socorro closer to her chest. Talking with those in the plaza was bad enough when music had still been banned in their home, but running off and talking to complete strangers was another. Who knew what the man could have done to him? He could have been kidnapped! But both of his parents' expressions soften into gentle smiles of understanding, thankful that the man had even bothered to help their son return home at all.

"We'll make sure he's alright, Miguel," Enrique eases Miguel's worry, and Miguel smiles back in relief. "If he helped you come home, this is the least we can do for him."

" _Gracias,_  Papá," Miguel says gratefully. Héctor was safe now. "Can...can I stay with him so I'll be there when he wakes up?"

Enrique nods in agreement, positive his son would only disobey him anyway if he said no, and he doesn't see a reason why he shouldn't be allowed to stay with the man to show his gratitude for helping him home. Luisa moves from the door so he can enter, but Miguel has another idea instead.

"I'll be right back," he says, rushing towards the  _ofrenda_ room to get Héctor's guitar where he had left it before leaving with Rosa. He stops in front of the  _ofrenda_  itself, unable to rip his gaze away from the picture that contained Héctor, Imelda and little Coco.

It feels wrong, but Miguel reaches a free hand up to take hold of the photo, his fingers trembling slightly as he places them around the picture.

He doesn't want to, but he knows he  _has_ to unless he wants Papa Héctor to be in danger. He was well-remembered now by the stories that Mamá Coco had told them before passing on, so Miguel was almost sure it wouldn't affect his stance in the Land of the Dead. The Final Death wouldn't creep up on him again despite the fact that Rosa and the others hadn't yet put two and two together. He was a part of their family who was supposed to be long gone—not recognizing Héctor despite  _remembering_ him. It was no longer  _Día de los Muertos,_ so the photo didn't currently need to be on the  _ofrenda_ so his deceased family could cross over.

He cannot allow anyone to suspect that the man in the photo and the man they had brought into their home were the same person. Once Héctor woke up, they would have to be careful going outside should anyone recognize the man Miguel had proved to write  _Remember Me_ along with his other songs that De la Cruz had stolen from him.

Mamá Imelda smashing the computer upon finding out that her photo hadn't been put up because it had accidentally been dropped seeps guiltily into his mind. If she found out he was now taking the photo willingly off the  _ofrenda,_ who knew what she would do to him even if he was her great-great grandson?

"...I'm sorry," he says sincerely, truly meaning it as he takes the photo down. His family would notice eventually, but a missing photo would be easier to explain and come up with a lie for than trying to explain how a man had come back to life.

xxxx

Miguel enters the guest room slowly after his return from the  _ofrenda,_ gripping Héctor's guitar gently and making sure that not even his footsteps have a chance at waking the skeleton-turned-human. He draws the curtains over the single window so he won't be blinded by the sun when he wakes.

His gaze rests on the bed that holds a living,  _breathing_ Héctor, and still Miguel can only wonder what had happened that caused him to return in such a state...

_Alive._

"He's the one you were talking to, isn't he?" The same voice from the  _ofrenda_  room says gently from the doorway. Miguel glances up to see Prima Rosa again, and all he can do is sigh in defeat. "I don't know how, but he was with you, wasn't he?"

Miguel nods, and Rosa's eyes trail suspiciously towards the man resting in bed.

"Where I went last year...is where he came from," Miguel says slowly so it can sink in. After a moment, he pulls out the photo that he had taken from the  _ofrenda,_ handing it to his cousin.

Rosa gasps at the fact that he had done such a thing so soon after  _Día de los Muertos,_  but allows Miguel to hand the picture to her. She blinks in confusion at first, her head turning from the photo to the man and then back again. But then her eyes widen in realization, and she lifts a hand to her mouth.

"Whoa...sorry I called you crazy," she apologizes.

But Miguel no longer cares about being called a name.

"Prima Rosa...can you keep a secret?" Miguel asks, holding onto hope that she  _will._ She'd put two and two together faster than Miguel had thought she would, but his parents and  _Abuelita_ haven't—the last thing they would suspect about the stranger was him actually being a part of their family, even if they had learned about him through Mamá Coco and now remembered him because of her stories.

Rosa can only nod, her shock nearly getting the better of her as she stares wide-eyed at the man they had rescued.

Miguel was right. The man in the bed and the man in the photo  _are_  the same person. But how?

The mystery of where her cousin had gone last year was finally solved, and she understood why he had taken her to the edge of the cemetery where it seemed that nothing had been in sight except for the permanent fog. Maybe Miguel would tell her the rest of the story soon, but for now she knows all he can focus on is his great-great grandfather who had somehow come back to life.

She wants to hear more of the story now, but out of respect leaves the two to be alone. Miguel takes his place in a chair next to the bed, guitar in hand.

His mother had said that Héctor would be alright—that he would just need to rest and take it easy. But somehow, Miguel has a feeling it won't be that simple.

"You have to wake up, Papa Héctor," he pleas quietly. "Please wake up."


	3. Chapter 3

Imelda can't think. She can't breathe, even though she no longer possesses her lungs. Her subconscious chest movement seems to have stopped altogether in her shock at the sight that lays before her.

 _No, no, no._   _This can't be happening. It isn't possible!_  Her mind races uncontrollably, but her long-gone heart tells her that it  _is._

Héctor lays on the ground far from the bridge, and far from where they can reach him. She raises her hand from where she kneels after falling from her captor's grip, pressing it against the invisible barrier that 'appears' when  _Día de los Muertos_ ends, blocking the dead from entering the Land of the Living past the holiday.

"Héctor..." she whispers. She can't help it when her voice shakes, when it can't help but  _plea_ for him to come back to her. He doesn't answer, still passed out on the ground. His eyes are closed, but the thing that stands out to her most is that his bones are no longer visible, but covered with... _skin._

Human skin.

His cries of terror before falling still echo around her.

_"I can't see you. I can't hear you!"_

The dead have the ability to see one another, but the living are an entirely different matter. They can't see or hear the dead, yet Héctor  _is_ dead.

 _Not anymore,_ Imelda's inner voice seems to tell her.  _De la Cruz and those_ tontos  _forced him to stay in the Land of the Living. They forced him to stay, and now my husband is..._

Her mind doesn't want to finish the thought, still unable to wrap itself around the very idea that a dead man was somehow able to  _come back to life_ _,_ skin enveloping his bones. Pain causing him to fall to the ground as his body twisted itself in unimaginable ways, creating new organs on the inside that would be able to keep him...

_Alive._

She wants to run to him, to hold his head in her lap to stop him from being hurt further, but the invisible barrier prevents her from doing so. Pepita rumbles lowly and attempts to paw at the unseen wall blocking them, but not even her gigantic size would be enough to break it down if she slammed her head against it. Though Pepita won't show her worry, Imelda can tell she's anxious about what happened with Dante and wants to help her fellow spirit guide as well, but the dog is nowhere to be found.

The crowd of de la Cruz fans have scattered in order to avoid being caught by police. The man holding Pepita hadn't been so lucky, and the police drag him away to be questioned along with a few others.

Héctor's spirit guitar lays to the side, and she reaches her other hand down to grab hold of the instrument.

"Mamá Imelda?" She hears Papá Julio's voice, but only barely. She doesn't react, her free hand refusing to leave the invisible barrier. Her fingers curl into a fist and her other hand raises the guitar in warning, but a second hand rests on her shoulder to stop her from trying to break it, to stop a pointless act that wouldn't work no matter how hard they tried.

Her head turns around sharply, and her eyes meet Rosita's. She smiles gently at her, but Imelda can't find it in her to return the gesture, glancing back around to fix her gaze once again on Héctor. He hasn't moved in the slightest, remaining where he had fallen only moments ago.

"It's okay...let's not panic," Oscar says from behind her. His false breathing picks up as he stares harder at Héctor, his twin brother joining him. Together they notice Héctor's new skin, his new  _hair,_ and the way his chest seems to fall and rise in real, shallow breathing movements so unlike their own.

"Héctor's alive again! We're panicking!" They both yell at the same time, hugging each other close to try and calm down; their attempt is unsuccessful.

"Stop it, you two. Don't make matters worse," Victoria scolds the twins, though even  _she_  has a hard time believing what just happened herself. A skeleton coming back to life...it was just unheard of!

"We should go to Family Grievances," Papá Julio suggests, holding Coco's hand. She sticks close by her husband, and doesn't speak or give any indication she'd heard. She stares in the direction where her father lays, seemingly unable to give a proper reaction in her shock. Julio squeezes her hand tighter, and she manages at least a small grip in return.

Imelda breaks her gaze away from Héctor for only a moment to see Victoria nodding in agreement.

"They'll know what to do," she says, though cautiously optimistic and not  _certain.  
_

Imelda knows one thing for sure: this has never happened before. A lot of things may happen if skeletons get stuck in the Land of the Living after sunrise on  _Día de los Muertos,_ but coming back to life wasn't one of them. It  _couldn't_ be! As far as she knows, Héctor is the first skeleton to come back to life. How would Grievances know what to do if  _it had never happened before?_  She wants to throw her shoes at the other skeletons around them watching and staring in awe, eyes wide in disbelief, but still can't bring herself to move.

She shakes her head at Julio's suggestion. "We can't leave him."

"We have to get help," he reasons quietly. He doesn't want to push, but they have to do  _something._ They can't leave Héctor laying outside alone without any help, though they couldn't exactly break down the barrier to try and get to him. They were stuck in the Land of the Dead as much as he was stuck in the living world, and even if they  _were_ able to go outside, they still wouldn't be able to touch him. They had to get help  _here._

"Papa Héctor?!" A voice suddenly cries out of the blue. A surprisingly young voice, but Imelda still can't bring herself to look away from Héctor. She has to stay with him, she can't just  _leave_ after what happened...

"Look! It's Miguel and Rosa," Felipe says as the two come into their view. Imelda watches as her great-great grandson kneels next to her husband, just as shocked as she feels.

He looks up, left and right and straight ahead where the bridge is located, but invisible to his living eyes.

 _"Miguel..."_  Héctor mumbles so quietly that they almost can't hear what was said. Miguel's eyes widen at the confirmation that _yes,_  the man laying before him is indeed his great-great grandfather.

"They'll get help," Rosita says gently.

"I can't leave him. Not like this..." Imelda squeezes her eyes shut, unable to bear the sight of human-Héctor any longer. The last time she had seen him this way, he'd left her and Coco to chase a musical fantasy with his best friend who had  _murdered and taken everything from him._

She just couldn't leave  _Héctor._

"Mamá?" The most heartbreaking voice she'd ever heard brings her back to the awful reality that Héctor is no longer with them, and she forces herself to look at their daughter. Coco's gentle eyes gaze back at her.

The group waits patiently for her to move, but she can't.

It's not until Luisa and Enrique arrive does Imelda get up from her spot at last, still refusing to leave until Héctor is gone and safe with them.

xxxx

"Coco...what if..." Imelda can't finish the sentence as they stand outside the Department of Family Reunions. Her feet are frozen to the ground, afraid to take another step forward.

What if there was nothing they could do about Héctor? She can't bear the sound of her daughter's heartbroken voice. How would she be able to bear her heartbroken expression if they learned nothing could be done about their situation? She tries to tell herself that won't be the case, that Family Grievances had known about a way to send Miguel back home. Héctor was in almost the same situation, except the other way around. He wasn't slowly turning into a skeleton; he had changed quickly  _from_ a skeleton into a living human being. They would know what to do, even if this hadn't happened before...they  _had_  to!

Victoria, surprisingly, is understanding. "I'll wait outside with her," she offers, taking a seat on a nearby bench. Coco sits next to her, not saying a word; Imelda can only imagine the inner turmoil she's experiencing at the thought of her father being stuck in the Land of the Living in the form he had turned into.

"Rivera family," the clerk of Family Grievances says as they wait outside the A113 door. A wave of déjà vu hits Imelda, and for a moment she has to check and make sure Miguel isn't with them. To her relief, the boy is still safe and sound in the Land of the Living, not cursed and in need of a family blessing.

She could only hope that in Héctor's situation, all he needed was a family blessing to return to them.

"Is de la Cruz really...gone?" Rosita questions nervously as they step inside. It's exactly as Imelda remembers it—the desk and stack of papers that seem to be taller this year.

"I believe that may be the case," the clerk responds, moving to sit at his desk and sort through his papers. "Though he was still remembered by the world and not anywhere near the Final Death, he stayed outside too long in the Land of the Living past  _Día de los Muertos._ He disappeared for good."

Imelda can't help but feel grim satisfaction that her husband's murderer had gotten what he deserved...at least one good thing had come out of this. Yet it wouldn't help Héctor's situation, and Imelda has a terrible feeling that his case may be even  _worse._

The clerk is about to say something else when a sneeze unexpectedly erupts.

 _"Achoo!"_ His papers rustle, a few falling to the floor. Oscar bends down to pick them up and hand them back. "Excuse me, but is that hairless dog with you again?" The clerk asks, rubbing his nose with a hand to try and stop another oncoming sneeze.

Imelda stops short, eyes widening in realization and horror.

 _Dante._  He had disappeared too along with de la Cruz, a fate that Miguel's best friend didn't deserve.

She shakes her head.

"He was stuck on the other side and disappeared, too," she says, struggling to remain calm. Why did this have to happen? What would Héctor say to Miguel when he woke up?

"Since he is an  _alebrije_ now, he is connected to the Land of the Dead the same as we are, so staying after sunrise in the Land of the Living affected him, as well. He can only cross over on  _Día de los Muertos_ , or if one of your living family members passes to guide them to you. I suppose my allergy shouldn't be affecting me as much...or at all, if he's...not here," the clerk says, unsure of a better, nicer way to put Dante's disappearance.

"Must be the hair on our clothes," Oscar muses.

"But Dante doesn't have any hair," Felipe points out.  _Or didn't,_  his mind adds cruelly. What if Dante was gone forever along with de la Cruz?

"So I remember the living boy saying last year. Feels like yesterday... _Achoo!"_

"Could be Pepita's cat fur from the Land of the Living," Rosita suggests.

The clerk shakes his head, exasperated, and goes on as if he's avoiding the subject they  _really_ need to hear. "I suppose what happened last night is that the fans caused a distraction, enabling de la Cruz to cross over unnoticed. Since he is still well-remembered, he had no trouble crossing the bridge."

"But what about Héctor? He...he transformed right in front of our eyes. He came  _back to life,"_  Imelda says to try and get him back on track to the reason they're here in the first place. She grips the spirit guitar that she still holds tighter, unable to calm her nerves.

The clerk deliberately avoids her question, and Imelda has to resist the urge to throw one of her shoes at him.

"I imagine security will need to be tighter next year, and families will need chaperones to make sure no one attempts to stay out after sunrise, which I  _imagine_  some may try to do if they're desperate enough." He frowns.  _Día de los Muertos_ was a night to celebrate, after all. There shouldn't have to be a need for security  _or_ chaperones! But it would need to happen if skeletons were going to try and willingly stay past sunrise, now.

"His bones are covered with skin again," Papá Julio says.

"He couldn't see or hear us...just like a living person," Oscar adds in.

"What can we do?" Felipe finishes for him, trying his best not to panic again. His brother holds him close to keep him calm.

The clerk cringes, knowing he's unable to avoid his answer this time. "Not much, I'm afraid. He isn't cursed, he just stayed too long in the Land of the Living and suffered the consequences. A family blessing from anyone in the living world wouldn't help him return."

Imelda continues her struggle to remain calm, her worst fears coming to light. This was exactly what she hadn't wanted Coco to hear...

"Because of de la Cruz. He did not stay willingly...he was on his way back." Imelda isn't sure if she's trying to convince the clerk or herself, but she inwardly scolds herself for even thinking such a thing. It wasn't Héctor's fault he was stuck in the Land of the Living; he had never  _wanted_  to stay.

"Getting stuck in the Land of the Living on _Día de los Muertos_  is actually a very rare occurrence from what you may believe, and when it has happened, the consequences were different for each person. Unpredictable," the clerk explains slowly so it can sink in for them. "Skeletons usually know to avoid staying after sunrise, leaving early to make it back on time."

"Like de la Cruz and Dante disappearing...or that man holding Pepita. His hand got burned when the sunlight touched it!" Felipe realizes aloud.

The clerk nods, frowning again.

"Which is exactly why we'll need to be extra careful next year. We can't have anyone who wants to come back to life trying to stay  _willingly._  Chances are high they won't have the same outcome."

"And Héctor?" Imelda reminds the clerk, pulling him back to the situation at hand. It's another question he can't avoid, so he sighs and does his best to answer. It's not what he wants to say, but it's the truth and they  _need_  to know.

"I'm sorry, but like I said...there's not much you and I can do for him, seeing as we're stuck here. As far as our records show, he is the first to ever come back to life, the first skeleton from the Land of the Dead to turn human again. If he is indeed a living, breathing person now, he may just have to wait until next year on  _Día de los Muertos_  to see if the 'curse' wears off."

Imelda stiffens at the way he says 'curse,' like it's not a curse to be brought back to life, though he had already explained that it  _wasn't_ a curse at all. She had never admitted it to herself and she wasn't about to do so now...but she had waited nearly a century to accept Héctor back into their family. She may have hated him, but...she had  _missed_ him, never truly admitting to herself that yes, she still loved him, choosing instead to never forgive that he had abandoned his family to chase a stupid musical fantasy. All she had wanted was to protect her broken heart when she had still been alive...

She can wait another year for him, though she's not fond of the way the clerk had ended his sentence, like there was something more to the whole situation he wasn't telling them.

"Or..." she says slowly, waiting for the clerk to finish for her. She has a feeling of what the answer is, but needs to  _hear_ it to be sure.

"Or he may just have to live out the rest of his natural life in the Land of the Living. This has never happened before, so there's no way we can know for sure. I'm sorry," he apologizes sincerely, his gaze downcast and unable to meet hers.

Imelda's heart had broken the first time Héctor left to chase his dream. Though she had no heart now, it had felt like physically breaking when he had come close to the Final Death and she had almost lost him for good because of her—because she had wanted so badly for her family to forget the man who had hurt her and their daughter.

Now it was breaking a third time, and maybe for the last until _his_  time came again.

_This is all my fault...I never should have let him go back to see Miguel._

It was her fault  _again._

She doesn't care what the others think as she drops the spirit guitar and falls on her knees to the floor in despair, hardly aware of them yelling her name.

xxxx

Héctor jolts awake sharply without warning, the burning sensation from before he had collapsed returning full-force. The world crystalizes around him in a way it never had before, like he was somehow connected to it. A desperate need tears at his chest, and though familiar, he can't remember how to respond, gasping for air.

The question of why exactly would he need  _air_  sits at the back of his mind, but it's the least of his problems as his head swims dizzily, the room he finds himself in spinning uncontrollably. His body feels heavy,  _too_  heavy like Pepita is sitting on his chest and causing him to suffocate somehow, but the giant  _alebrije_  is nowhere to be found.

He thinks he can see Miguel sitting in a chair next to the bed, and relaxes only slightly, though it doesn't ease his panic. The boy jerks awake in his seat as if he'd previously nodded off, but his eyes widen at the sight of his great-great grandfather finally waking up.

"It's okay!" Miguel says quickly, lifting both of his hands as if to try and calm him. Héctor gasps again, unable to stop until this strange, new need is taken care of. He grips the bed covers he finds below the palms of his hands, and Miguel's voice barely manages to reach him.

"Just watch me. Breathe in...and out. In...and out."

Héctor stares at Miguel's chest, considering the way it falls and rises, and attempts to follow its actions.

In and out. In and out, until it seems that the process begins to repeat on its own.

It takes until after his breathing has settled to notice that Miguel is staring right at him, like he can really _see_  him. Now that he thinks about it, why is the room so bright? Even with curtains covering the window, the sun still filters through.

 _Sunrise..._ his mind whispers warily. Didn't that mean the holiday was over?

"Miguel..." he manages to say, and the boy stares back at him, eyes wide yet expectant for him to finish.

But that's not possible! He's a skeleton, and the living can't see the dead... _right?!_

"...Can you see me?" He asks hesitantly to make sure, his throat throbbing as the words emerge from his mouth. Why was it so hard to talk?

Miguel nods slowly, his eyes darting away and then back to his gaze, smiling awkwardly.

"Can you hear me...?"

Miguel nods again, and Héctor's phantom stomach drops in such a realistic manner that he has to close his eyes to avoid letting the spirit food he had eaten back up.

"How is this possible?" Héctor repeats the question aloud. "You're living and I'm dead. What's going on?" First they'd had to use Dante and Pepita to talk to each other, but now Miguel could actually  _see_  him?

"Papa Héctor...don't freak out, but you might want to look at your hands," Miguel suggests. From the way he talks Héctor can tell he's nervous about something...but what? From behind closed eyes, he hesitates as if he's afraid of what he'll see.

"My...hands?" Héctor asks weakly; all he wants to do at this point is sleep—to regain his long lost energy that had been sapped from him after his collapse. But he listens to Miguel anyway, and opens his eyes as calmly as he can. He attempts to lift the palms of his hands towards his face in spite of just how  _tired_  he was, and his eyes widen at what meets his gaze.

_Skin._

_No...it's not possible. It can't be possible,_  the words repeat in his mind. He wants to jump back in shock, to scream in terror, but he's just so  _tired_  that all he can do is remain in the bed and stare wide-eyed at the phenomenon before him.

The dead do not come back to life...but here he was. Miguel could see and hear him, and his bones were covered with... _skin._

Real,  _human_  skin.

"Can you remember what happened?" Miguel asks quietly. "Rosa was with me and we found you in the cemetery laying on the ground."

Héctor closes his eyes again, unable to bear the sight of his hands any longer. He forces himself to think as logically as he can, to take himself back to the moment from before he had fallen.

_Ernesto and a group of fans ambushing him on the way back to the bridge._

_Imelda and his family being held back so they couldn't help him..._

_Ernesto kicking Dante and then disappearing as the sun approached. Dante disappearing, too..._

_Pain...unimaginable pain as his body twisted and turned to accommodate his new organs..._

"It was Ernesto..." Héctor explains slowly, his throat still hurting as his voice grates against it. "I was on the way back to the bridge, but...he and a group of fans ambushed me..."

"Fans?" Miguel repeats, disgusted at the thought. How could anyone still be a fan of that lying murderer when the truth had been revealed in the Land of the Dead?

"An entire group," Héctor confirms uneasily, "they got him out from under the bell."

Miguel shudders.

 _So I was right. It was de la Cruz,_  he thinks back to when he'd first found Héctor, suspecting that it might have been Ernesto who had somehow managed to figure out a way to touch the living, mistaking the man to be Héctor. But in the end, it  _was_ his great-great grandfather.

"But how did... _this_  happen?" Miguel asks, gesturing towards his returned human body. Even from behind closed eyelids, Héctor can guess that he's most likely asking about his transformation.

"Ernesto knew something bad would happen to me if I stayed in the Land of the Living. The fans kept me from crossing the bridge, dropping me at the last second before they ran back to it themselves. It was too late for me and..."

 _Dante._  Héctor's eyes flicker open again. He glances around the room this way and that, but the hairless dog is nowhere to be found.

"What is it?" Miguel asks, though Héctor can't bring himself to respond, especially if Dante was gone like de la Cruz.

Héctor shakes his head, deciding it best for Miguel not to worry about the dog for now.

"Unpredictable things can happen to skeletons if we stay in the Land of the Living past sunrise after _Día de los Muertos._  I guess coming back to life is one of them..."

"It's kind of like the opposite of what happened to me," Miguel says with a mild chuckle as if to make light of the situation. Héctor appreciates the effort, but even a simple task such as smiling leaves him nearly breathless.

The room begins to spin again and he can feel himself falling once more, but into the soft covers of the bed this time. He has no choice but to ignore Miguel calling his name as the shock of coming back to life settles in.

xxxx

When Héctor wakes again, the room is dark. He half expects to be back in the Land of the Dead where he belongs, but is ultimately disappointed to find himself back in the living world.

It's not so disappointing to see that Miguel is still sitting in the chair, keeping a watchful eye on his great-great grandfather.

"It's okay," Miguel repeats softly to keep him from falling into another panic. "I think you fainted. You just need to eat something like Mamá and Papá said," he explains, nodding towards a plate of food they'd left for him resting on a stand near the bed.

 _Eating..._ in the Land of the Dead, skeletons could still eat the spirit versions of food despite the fact that they were dead and didn't _need_  to eat—the same as how they didn't need to  _breathe,_  yet they still breathed anyway as if to hold onto a part of themselves from the living world. He'd had a full stomach after eating so much on his first  _Día de los Muertos,_ but now it feels empty. Yet he can't stand the thought of eating for real when he's not _supposed_  to. He can't give into his body's needs, or else it would be...

 _Acceptance._  Acceptance at what had happened to him.

It's probably not a good idea for him to try eating yet anyway, so he shakes his head. "Thanks, _chamaco,_  but I don't think I'm ready."

"Oh...right," Miguel says with an awkward smile.

"Do your parents know who I am?" He asks cautiously.

"They don't suspect anything yet," Miguel answers, "they don't recognize you yet from the photo because you're supposed to be..."

"Dead," Héctor finishes.  _I'm supposed to be dead, but I'm **alive.**_

Miguel nods meekly.

"But Rosa knows," he adds, "she kept asking me all these questions, so I kind of had to tell her."

 _Understandable,_  Héctor thinks pointlessly to himself.

He's suddenly aware of another new sensation in his body. It's that same pounding sensation he'd felt before falling to the ground, that harsh and fast pounding sensation he can hardly forget.

Bracing himself for the worst, he lifts a hand to his chest—the place he can faintly remember where he'd last felt this odd sensation, back when it  _wasn't_  so odd.

_Beat beat, beat beat._

_No._

His heart...he has a heart again. He pulls his hand away sharply.

 _This isn't good,_  is all he can think as he forces himself to remain calm. The one person to help apart from Miguel who instantly comes to mind is...

It's almost like his newly returned heart shatters in two, splitting right down the middle.

"Coco...I promised I would never leave her again, but now I'm  _here..."_  He whispers, broken as he remembers the horrified look on her face when he had been stuck on the outside, far from the bridge.

"It wasn't your fault," Miguel insists. "You can't blame yourself for this...you didn't leave them willingly this time. It was de la Cruz...again."

Again. It was de la Cruz  _again._  Why did that man have to ruin his life, and now his afterlife? Had Ernesto really hated him that much? But Héctor knows the question was already answered long ago with the events that had transpired. First poison, and now coming back to life...it may not have been exactly what Ernesto had wanted, nor the expected aftermath when he had ordered his fans to keep Héctor from crossing the bridge, but it was keeping him apart from his family, and Héctor suspects that was certainly part of his goal.

"It was because of me, wasn't it?" Miguel asks softly. "You wanted to come back and tell me you survived the Final Death..."

"You can't place the blame for this on yourself, either, Miguel. You had nothing to do with it," Héctor instantly disagrees. It had been  _his_  choice to go back and see his great-great grandson. Miguel may have been part of the reason, but it certainly wasn't his fault that he was stuck here in the Land of the Living...

 _Alive._  His new stomach churns and he almost wants to gag, but manages to stop himself. It was all because of de la Cruz, as Miguel said. As it always had been.

"They know what happened this time," Miguel attempts to comfort his grandfather again, though he's not sure if it's working. But trying _something_  is better than doing nothing. "Maybe they can figure out a way to bring you back home from there."

"I hope so,  _chamaco,_  I hope so..." Héctor trails off, staring back down at his skin-covered hands, so different from the bones that he'd grown used to after so many years in the Land of the Dead. He knows his bones are underneath the skin, but it confuses and unsettles him to no end that he can't actually  _see_  them anymore.

"Papá said I have to sleep in my own bed tonight," Miguel says uncertainly, hesitant to leave him alone. Héctor's heart skips a beat at the thought of being left by himself, but he figures Miguel can't just sleep in a chair all night.

"It's okay, Miguel. I'll be okay," he assures him, but truthfully Héctor isn't sure if he's comforting  _himself,_ instead. "You need to get some rest, too."

Miguel stays for a few moments longer, but exhaustion eventually wins since he hadn't gotten a full night's sleep on  _Día de los Muertos._  Before leaving the room, he lifts up a familiar shape from the side of the chair.

"In case you want to play," he says, resting the instrument against the stand that still holds the uneaten food, close by so he doesn't have to reach too far. "Maybe if you're feeling better tomorrow, you can try eating. Then we can go to the cemetery and see if we can find anything that can help."

Héctor nods weakly, waiting until Miguel has left to stare at his guitar that would be a source of comfort after everything that happened.

Playing...playing some music would help him calm down since he's alone now and Miguel isn't with him.

Arm trembling as he reaches for the guitar, he gasps when his hand makes direct, unexpected contact, unlike the night before when they had gone straight through. Muscles tense as he lifts the guitar carefully as he can, positioning himself to sit up no matter how dizzily it makes his head spin again.

His songs...he immediately knows the first one he should play to comfort both himself  _and_ his daughter, despite the distance they currently face in different lands.

He had never intended  _Remember Me_  to be an extravagant song like what Ernesto had turned it into. It was a lullaby,  _his_  lullaby that he had created for his daughter alone, one that they could sing whenever they were apart. Miguel had wanted to sing it for his audition in the Land of the Dead but he had refused, claiming it to be far too popular.

That hadn't been the only reason...it was Coco's song, and Coco's song only.

Hands shaking, he lifts the guitar closer to his chest as if to distract himself from his pounding heart, albeit quietly so as not to wake anyone.

 _"Remember me...though I have to say goodbye..."_ he begins, his voice nothing but a pitiful quiver.

He's positive that Coco is singing now along with him—he in the Land of the Living and herself in the Land of the Dead—and something wet trickles down his cheek, hitting the guitar as he sings sorrowfully.

Would this last until next year, or was he going to have to live out his entire life before getting to see them again? Héctor wasn't sure if he could wait that long. This couldn't be  _goodbye..._

_"Remember me...don't let it make you cry..."_

Now that he was alive again, Héctor realizes that his ability to cry has returned. He remembers his first day in the Land of the Dead very well: horror to find out that he had died, and then the realization that he would never see his family again until they passed, as well. Though when Imelda had arrived, she hadn't been too happy to see him, slapping his face with her shoe as she had done to Ernesto and banishing him from her afterlife for good—that is, until Miguel came along and pulled them back together.

He can't help it when tears continue falling for the time with Coco that he'd lost, all the years that they could have been together cut short by a man who had wanted nothing more than to be famous through his songs. Tears for when he found out that he had been murdered by no one else but his  _best friend._

_"How could you?! You took everything away from me! You rat! I just wanted to go back home!"_

Memories of the year before catapult his mind when Miguel had shown him the movie, revealing what had  _really_ happened—he hadn't been poisoned by  _chorizo_ like he'd initially thought all those years, but by his  _best friend..._

The last words he'd yelled as he had been dragged away by security repeat over and over even after he finishes  _Remember Me_ and sets the guitar down to fall into a fitful, uneasy sleep.

Tears for the loss of his skeleton body now transformed into a living human being.

_I just want to go home..._


	4. Chapter 4

_"Oh, I could never hate you," Ernesto says, a dark smile forming across his features. Why hadn't he seen it before? Why hadn't he suspected what Ernesto was planning? He'd been so **angry**  at him for wanting to leave, angry enough to..._

_He drinks the liquid, thinking nothing of it and not suspecting that it may soon end his life. Moments later as they walk towards the station, Héctor suddenly feels that he can't move, bending and clutching his stomach in agony._

_His mind is starting to become too blurry to make sense of anything...everything goes dark._

_"I woke up dead," he remembers telling Miguel after seeing the movie scene Ernesto had created._

_But now I'm alive..._

_Dead...I'm supposed to be **dead!**_

Héctor jolts awake again with not much warning other than the nightmare, the sharp pain in his stomach intensifying. He grips his stomach and groans, his nose wrinkling as an odd sort of smell approaches.

Wait...his  _nose?_  Lifting a hand towards his face, he has to stop himself from screaming when he sees that it's still covered with  _skin._

 _Smell..._ he doesn't dare lift his hand any further to feel his newly returned nose, yet it astounds him that one is actually  _there_  since skeletons in the Land of the Dead just...don't have them. They may have what's  _left_  of a nose, but their ability to smell was compromised. On the other hand, it seemed that some skeletons unfortunately retained their allergies, which Héctor had always found fascinating for some reason.

It wasn't so fascinating to be stuck in the Land of the Living in his human body that no longer belonged in such a place.

Glancing left and right, he finds that he's still in the same room he'd fallen asleep in—he's still in the living world as a human being in his old body.

This had to be a nightmare, too!

But it _isn't._

He's still in the living world, and as far as he knows, there's nothing he can do about it. There's no way he'll ever be able to go back home and see Imelda and Coco.

 _No...I can't think like that,_  he tells himself firmly. He and Miguel haven't even tried anything that would possibly be able to send him back. He can't lose hope like this so easily...his new nose wrinkles again, and he realizes that the smell must be coming from another room.

The door to the guest room opens gently, and Héctor expects Miguel to enter at first. But instead it's...his mother?

Luisa comes in slowly, holding a plate filled with a yellow kind of food that he guesses the smell must have originated from. He has to stop his nose from wrinkling again as she brings the plate closer, lest she wanted her to think him rude on his first impression.

His eyes widen as he realizes that she's holding his straw hat in one hand along with the plate.

"I see our guest is awake," she says calmly, a gentle smile crossing her features. She sets the plate down onto the stand, and Héctor eyes the yellow food warily. It looks and smells like... _eggs?_  He can't help it when a shiver runs down his skin-covered spine. He used to eat  _chorizo_ and eggs for breakfast with Ernesto on the road. There's no  _chorizo_  included as far as his scent can tell, but he finds it an uncanny coincidence that eggs would just so happen to be the first thing he'll eat in the living world.

She hands the straw hat to him as well and he's glad to have it back, but rests it politely to the side for now.

 _"Gracias,"_  is all he can say to start off, and Luisa smiles again, gesturing back towards the door as if she's telling someone it's okay to come in.

A second person arrives, and Héctor recognizes the man as Enrique—Miguel's father. He carries a pair of shoes, and Héctor can tell just by looking at them that they're  _his._  He'd been so used to going around barefoot in the Land of the Dead that he had still  _felt_  as if he was barefoot as he crossed the bridge, glancing down to make sure the shoes were real and not just a cruel figment of his imagination. The shoes had become a part of who he was, a sign that his family—especially Imelda—had accepted his return.

"Must have been some lullaby my son played," Enrique says, a hint of pride caressing his voice as he sets the shoes down near the door for Héctor to put on once he's well enough to leave.

 _Lullaby? What are you up to, Miguel?_  Héctor can only wonder for the time being. He guesses that he should play along until the boy explains, so he nods slowly, trying his best to put the puzzle pieces together.

"It was a long night, and I was already tired. He helped a lot and I guess it worked a little  _too_  well." He pauses to chuckle awkwardly, and Miguel's parents simply wait for him to continue. "I apologize if I scared him or caused any trouble. I was surprised to see him again after we met last year."

 _The understatement of the century,_  Héctor can't help but think. It had been a pleasant kind of surprise being able to talk to Miguel through Dante and Pepita, but he wishes it could have stayed that way instead of turning into what he is  _now._

"If you don't mind, Señor, could you tell us your name? Miguel—our son who found you—wasn't entirely clear on that," Enrique says.

He immediately wants to say Héctor—Héctor Rivera, but understands he probably shouldn't. According to Miguel, they don't know who he is yet, that he is their son's great-great grandfather. If he says his real name, it would probably jog their memory of the photo and shock them—maybe even  _scare_  them. Or they would just think he was crazy—out of his mind, and send him to one of those  _loco_ places.

He was a master at coming up with things on the spot, just as he had done while playing Chicharrón's favorite song and coming up with a new lyric when Miguel had been listening. He had come up with hundreds of different names while trying to cross the bridge over the years, so he falters and wracks his newly-formed brain trying to pick  _one._

"Uh...G-Gael! Gael García." He answers a little too quickly for his liking. He'd used it once in an attempt to cross the bridge, stealing another skeleton's identity. It hadn't worked, of course, but it would have to do here. It hadn't just been another skeleton's name either, but that the name 'Gael' was a part of him, somehow. Then again, he'd always felt that way after stealing someone's identity, like they had melded into him; or he had just wished too strongly to be someone else because he couldn't cross that bridge no matter how hard he tried.

"Is there anyone we can call to let them know you're alright? Friends? Family?" Enrique questions again, and Héctor can suddenly relate to how Miguel must have felt when Rosa had bombarded him with questions before revealing to her who he really was.

 _Right in front of me,_  he thinks nonchalantly, though he can't shake off the awkward feeling of being in the presence of his great-grandson. This wasn't right...it wasn't  _natural!_

"...I left home a long time ago," he answers carefully. It was true, but he didn't have to add in too many details. "My parents didn't agree with certain choices I made, so..."

_Imelda banished me from seeing her and Coco again._

It was better than trying to explain what had gone on in the cemetery. No one living would have been able to witness Ernesto and the other skeletons dragging him through the Land of the Living after their ambush, and it would only raise their worry and cause them to really call a doctor, something he was surprised they hadn't done yet. Maybe Miguel was part of the reason...he makes a mental note to ask the boy later.

Enrique and Luisa exchange glances, and Héctor can see the worry shine through about what kind of 'choices' he had made to get kicked out of his home. But he's grateful when they decide not to push, and Enrique nods in acceptance at his answer.

"We just want to thank you for helping our son come home last year," Luisa says gratefully. Héctor has to stop his eyes widening should they become suspicious of his surprised reaction. Just what had Miguel told them about last year, exactly? The most obvious answer is that  _no,_  he wouldn't tell them anything about the Land of the Dead...would he?

"I just gave him some advice when he ran into me," Héctor says in another careful explanation. "Nothing is more important than family. I made the wrong choices, so I wanted to make sure he didn't go down the same path I did."

He had to admit, that did fall in line with his lie about getting kicked out by his parents. Well, half-lie. He'd gotten kicked out by his wife in the Land of the Dead, but he still keeps that part to himself.

" _Gracias,_  Señor. Miguel took your advice to heart," Enrique says with a smile as wide as Luisa's. Héctor nods, a feeling of pride for the boy sweeping through him, and Luisa gestures towards the plate of eggs.

The smell makes him want to vomit, but all he manages is a slight groan when Miguel's parents leave.

xxxx

Héctor relaxes for the first time since the day began when Miguel returns. He tries his best to hide the discomfort in his stomach, to ignore the painful growling sensation, but he lifts a hand towards it anyway and visibly winces enough for Miguel to notice.

"You need to eat something. You're just hungry," he says, pointing to his own stomach, and then towards the plate of scrambled eggs.

_Right._

Héctor can now recall hunger pains from when he had been living, but he doesn't remember them being  _this_  bad; it might just be because he hasn't eaten anything since  _Día de los Muertos._

He lifts the fork from the plate shakily with a hand, struggling for a moment to get a piece of egg on top. He definitely can't recall eating being so  _difficult_  as the egg refuses to stay in place, falling back onto the plate, but then he remembers it's been  _years_  since he's actually touched real food.

Miguel reaches his own hand forward to position his in the right place so the fork is easier to hold, and his shakes lessen enough to allow him to lift the egg to his mouth.

 _I can't do this,_  he screams in his mind.  _I'm not supposed to be eating!_

But his unpleasant hunger pains win. He pushes the fork into his mouth, taking it out just as quick.

"Swallow," Miguel instructs when he sees him hesitate.

Héctor gives in, not wanting to face the wrath of his great-great grandson.

The scrambled egg slides down his throat easily, but all Héctor can think of is the  _chorizo_  he had eaten just before his death, and then assuming he'd choked. Closing his eyes, he forces himself to forget about the  _chorizo_  for a moment and just concentrate on how good the egg tastes. He can feel it move all the way down his throat, landing directly in the middle of his stomach.

He'd done it. He'd eaten for the first time since coming back to life!

But he can't get used to it. He and Miguel will find a way for him to get back home, he knows they will; it's too early to lose hope.

"So...what's this about a lullaby that made me fall asleep?" Héctor asks to distract himself as he eats, making sure to swallow first before he talks.

"Not  _Remember Me,"_  Miguel says before he can bring up his own lullaby that he had created for Coco. It may have been a lullaby, but it wasn't meant to actually make her fall asleep though she could have if she wanted; it was so they could play together whenever they were apart.

"I didn't want them to get a doctor," Miguel explains, shuddering at the idea, "because they might have found out that you're not supposed to...be alive."

 _Oh. That makes sense,_  Héctor thinks, blinking in surprise. In all honesty, he hadn't thought of why Miguel's parents didn't bring a doctor when they'd found him, or why they hadn't gotten one when he first woke up. He supposes it's for the better; what if they actually  _did_  find out? The living world is unaware of what happens after death. They may have a strong belief that their ancestors and loved ones are still there waiting for them, but they don't know that for  _sure,_  just as Miguel hadn't been before entering the Land of the Dead himself. If doctors found out where he was  _really_ from, who knew what they would do to him?

"So I told them I made you fall asleep by accident with the guitar because you were already tired from the holiday," Miguel continues, nodding towards the instrument still resting by the stand. "They didn't believe me at first since I didn't have it with me at the time, but Rosa was in on it and said she put it away when she went to get them."

He huffs slightly. "I have to come up with an entirely new song now. One that will make people fall asleep because it's so calming." He pouts a little, realizing the trouble he's gotten himself into. "How am I going to do that?!"

"I'm sure it won't be that hard. You do get it from me!" Héctor reminds him of what he'd said when they were trapped in the sinkhole together.

 _"But now I know...it comes from you!"_  Héctor can't help but smile warmly at the memory, and he realizes that it's the first time he's smiled since arriving in the Land of the Living.

It fades just as soon as it had arrived.

"Maybe you can help," Miguel says brightly. Héctor nods, but pauses just before he lifts another bite of egg to his mouth. He takes notice that it's morning, but Miguel is still here with him, which he's grateful for.

But...

"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" He asks, growing suspicious that the answer was yes.

"Yeah..." Miguel confirms. He hesitates a moment as if he'll be in trouble, but it's not like Héctor would be able to punish him for skipping school even if they were related. "I convinced Mamá and Papá to tell them we have a family emergency, even though they don't think you really are a part of the family, yet. They'll be too busy with the baby and the workshop to take care of you, so they agreed that I can do it for now!" Miguel snickers, but Héctor shakes his head.

He doesn't like the idea. "You shouldn't be missing school because of me."

"You  _are_  a family emergency," Miguel points out, "they just don't know that yet." He chuckles again like it's one of the funniest things he's heard recently, and Héctor can't blame him if it  _is._

He also can't exactly disagree. It was indeed an emergency being sent back to the Land of the Living in his human body, but only he and Miguel know that, of course.

The plate is empty now and he sets it down onto the stand, Miguel seeming satisfied that he'd eaten his first full meal.

His stomach is also satisfied—the hunger pains are gone and no longer tormenting him.

But since the hunger left, a new type of pain makes itself known and he does his best to ignore it, to fight the impossible, but it only makes the pain worse the more he concentrates on it.

He can't take the building pressure between his legs any longer, glancing back towards Miguel.

He has no choice but to ask the one question he had been trying to avoid since waking up yesterday, ignoring the pressure and holding it in until it reached its peak now and he wasn't able to do so any longer.

"The Land of the Living still has restrooms, right?"

Miguel's eyes widen at the unexpected question and Héctor can tell he's trying to hold back a laugh, but instead he smiles and nods politely, much to his relief and appreciation.

"I can show you where the bathroom is," he says hesitantly, "but you're going to have to stand..."

xxxx

Miguel helps him out of the bed steadily as he can, and Héctor grabs his shoulders gently as a support. His bare feet touch the floor and he closes his eyes to prepare himself for contact.

The second his feet touch the floor and he attempts to put his weight on them, his knees buckle. Miguel reaches both hands forward to stop him from falling on his face like he had after the bridge incident. Héctor manages to rebalance, gently sitting back down onto the bed.

His legs shake, and he has trouble finding it in him to try standing again; being covered with human skin was definitely much different than walking on pure bones, its heaviness not helping him to put one foot forward after the other at all.

"Let's try again," Miguel says, determined not to have him give up so easily.

Again.

And again...

And again.

He glances up at Miguel to let him know that he's okay after the third try, and that it wasn't anything serious except for maybe a bruise or two that would form later.

"It's been so long...I forgot what it feels like to be alive," he admits, weariness already beginning to take over though the day had just begun. He places a hand on his knees to stop himself from falling over a fourth time as he raises himself up, unaware that he's actually staying in one place until Miguel points out his victory.

"There you go!" He praises, smiling brightly. "Now take one step forward..."

His great-great grandson's encouraging words push him to keep trying until he gets the hang of it at last, his past muscle memory finally returning. He finds that it helps greatly if he brings forth an actual memory of walking from when he had still been alive before, but Miguel allows him to keep a hand gently placed on his shoulder as he leads him towards the bathroom just in case he loses his balance again.

"We should go to the cemetery after you're done to see if we can find anything there that can help," Miguel suggests.

Héctor nods in agreement as he enters the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

xxxx

 _That feels much better,_ Héctor thinks when the deed is done. His bladder is empty now, and he couldn't be happier. He moves towards the sink to wash his hands, unprepared when he accidentally looks up into the mirror without bracing himself first.

Brown eyes that are almost an identical match to his great-great grandson's stare back at him, widening at the sight.

He's still wearing his purple vest and brown pants, including the red tie.

He lifts his hands up to his hair and pulls lightly, cringing when it doesn't come off like it used to; his hair is  _attached_  to his head, now.

He can see that his gold tooth is missing, replaced by a new set of teeth that Héctor realizes he will have to take care of from now on, or at least until next year if he was lucky enough to be able to just...fade back into the Land of the Dead, if that's how it would work.

A gentle knock sounds at the door and at first, Héctor is afraid to answer. He waits, but decides to open the door when the silence continues.

He glances around the room but sees no one, his gaze landing back on the bed where he had been resting. New clothes have been placed on the bed for him to change into, and Héctor can only wonder who they previously belonged to.

Blue jeans and a lightly colored purple shirt similar to his vest, as if they knew he would like something at least a little similar to his old clothes. Whoever had lent him this new outfit, he would have to find out so he could thank them later; he has an odd feeling it hadn't been Miguel.

He's not sure if his current clothing fits in with this century, but it hadn't been enough for Miguel's parents to ask questions about it. Maybe he should come up with an explanation just in case...

As he struggles to get his cherished shoes back on and put the new clothes to use, his stomach drops anyway as he realizes just how many years have passed since his murder.

Ernesto had killed him in 1921. He was never one to keep track of the years in the Land of the Dead since then, only becoming worried about such a thing when he had felt himself beginning to fade.

He's almost afraid to ask Miguel what year it is now, but based on how old his daughter had been when she'd passed, the exact number of years couldn't be anything good.

xxxx

They make it back to the cemetery in one piece, and both are surprised that Héctor doesn't fall once on the journey. His determination to get back home leads his grandson to the spot he remembers the most—where he had first fallen after his transformation was complete.

All the while, Miguel had made sure that they weren't seen by any passerby, taking shortcuts in order to get to their destination unseen; Héctor still finds it hard to believe that he can be seen by the living now at all, though he's grateful that Miguel is one of them.

"My parents might not recognize you, but someone else could. I had to show your photo to a lot of Santa Cecilia to prove you wrote the songs and that it was your guitar, so they might have a better memory," Miguel explains as they continue their journey. The boy glances left and right as if he's looking for something—or  _someone_ —and Héctor has a sinking feeling that it may be Dante. Even though the spirit guide would normally be stuck in the Land of the Dead the rest of the year with them, Miguel may be thinking that he had somehow gotten stuck on the other side of the bridge with him, as well.

No matter how hard he tries, Héctor just can't bring himself to tell Miguel about the possibility that Dante might be gone, and he would never come back.

They stand now in the cemetery itself. Héctor reaches a hand forward, as if to try and touch the invisible that he  _knows_ is still there even if he can't see it.

 _Coco...Imelda...Dante...I'm so sorry._ If he could apologize right now a thousand times over, he would...but it would never be enough. Not after what he had put them through after leaving the first time to go with Ernesto.

_I never meant for this to happen. I should have gone back with you when I still had the chance..._

He could have waited another long year to try to tell Miguel that he had made it, but he didn't. If he had, none of this would be happening right now. Miguel had said with such certainty that it was Ernesto's fault, but Héctor wishes he could be as sure as his great-great grandson.

His fists clench unconsciously in frustration.  _This **is**  all my fault..._

"The Land of the Dead is on the other side of the wall, right?" Miguel asks just to be sure.

 _"Sí,"_  is all Héctor can answer, staring longingly at the fog enveloping said wall. What else would be on the other side, hidden by mysterious fog that never seemed to leave? He could try climbing over but even if he made it, he knows he wouldn't be able to see anything.

Or anyone. It would just be a blank space, and his new heart wouldn't be able to take it in that home isn't home anymore. The marigold bridge is probably right in front of him, and he has to resist the urge to just make a break for it lest he want to run right into the wall and hurt himself.

_So close...yet so far._

At least for now. He turns and his eyes widen as Miguel pulls out a petal from his own jeans pocket, and Héctor has an odd sense of déjà vu as if they're reliving the moment Miguel had pulled the photo of Coco out of his pocket.

Why hadn't he thought of it before?

The boy takes a deep breath, pausing for a moment.

"I thought that maybe all you need is a blessing."

Héctor nods. "It's worth a try. Go for it,  _chamaco."_

Miguel pauses again, readying himself and lifting the petal towards Héctor.

"Papa Héctor...I give you my blessing."

The former skeleton stares intently at the petal.

Nothing. The petal doesn't glow, but Hector holds out hope that eventually, maybe...it  _will._

Miguel tries again, determined not to give up so soon.

"I give you my blessing to go back to the Land of the Dead and be with Mamá Imelda and Mamá Coco," Miguel says. Each of the two names makes Héctor's heart pound just a bit faster, and an intense longing to go back where he belongs nearly smothers him.

"And never try to stay late to see me again," Miguel adds the condition as if to give the petal another chance to glow, but Héctor shakes his head in exasperation.

"Miguel, it wasn't your fault," Héctor reminds his great-great grandson. "It was Ernesto and his fans. They kept me from getting back across."

"I know," Miguel says in response. He grins. "But just to be sure."

Héctor rolls his eyes, and they both continue to stare with such intent that Héctor can feel his eyes start to burn from keeping them open for so long.

Still nothing. The petal remains blank and unglowing just like a normal petal.

"It's not working," Héctor finally says, anxiety beginning to creep up on him again.

Miguel sighs in disappointment. "I guess not..."

His grandson's words don't help him to calm down. "It's not glowing! It's not working! I was forced to stay late in the Land of the Living, so I'm cursed. Right?! I have to be cursed, so the petal has to glow! I have to go back..."

Miguel simply allows Héctor's panic to sink in without bothering to try and comfort him as a lightbulb goes off in his mind.

The only way to enter the Land of the Dead was either by being cursed or passing on...

"Getting cursed! That's it! You know how I stole your guitar and got cursed, right?"

"Right..." Héctor isn't sure if he likes where Miguel is going, but he manages to calm himself down enough to keep listening.

"All we have to do is wait until next year. Then you can steal something but instead of getting a blessing like I had to, you don't  _need_  one!"

Héctor blinks at Miguel's plan and how ready he already is for his grandfather to go through with it.

It might have been easy for his grandson to take his guitar under the impression that he would have wanted him to have it—and he  _does_ —but Héctor doesn't even have an impression from someone he could possibly steal from.

He couldn't do that!

"I can't steal," he disagrees, shaking his head. He can't picture himself stealing. It would be disrespectful for one thing, especially on  _Día de los Muertos._

"It won't hurt if that's what you're worried about," Miguel reassures. Now that he thinks about it, he hadn't felt any pain when he had been turning into a skeleton, thankfully. It probably should have, but he can't recall any kind of pain as he had changed from human to bones.

Héctor is grateful that Miguel hadn't experienced any pain during his slow transformation like he had. His change may have been quick, but it had been  _excruciating_  nonetheless.

He shakes his head again. "I can't," he repeats. Stealing a person's identity while trying to cross the bridge was one thing, but it was another thing entirely when he shouldn't  _have_  to steal.

But if he even went through with such a thing...

"I would be just like Ernesto. I can't do that..." He would be just like the man who had stolen everything from him. It might not be as extreme by taking the life of another human being of course, but it was just as bad.

"It might be the only way," Miguel says a little more softly, trying to contain his excitement that he had thought of a possible way home for his great-great grandfather.

"What am I going to do for a year?" Héctor asks, more to himself than Miguel. He needed to think this through...

"Maybe you can shine shoes like I did, or join Mamá and Papá in the workshop!" Miguel suggests, inwardly smacking himself for sounding almost his father. But his smile continues to brighten at the new idea forming. "That way you can still stay with us!"

Héctor shakes his head. While it would be nice staying with his living family, he couldn't intrude like that. It would be wrong for him to be there when he's not even  _supposed_  to be there...

"Your parents have already done enough for me," he says a bit more firmly.

"Please, Papa Héctor?" Miguel begs, clasping his hands together and staring at him with big, brown puppy dog eyes that almost remind him of Dante. Wherever the hairless dog is now, Héctor can only hope that he's okay.

"They do need a little more help in the workshop," Miguel lets it be known, and it's this statement that causes Héctor to start giving in. "You have to stay. We're your family, even if they don't know it yet."

Miguel was right, after all. His parents had done so much for him already, and he could repay them by helping to make shoes if they allowed. He would even work for free since he would only be staying for a year!

He sighs, running the plan over in his mind. If he stole something, he would become cursed and get sent back to the Land of the Dead as a human. But he would then turn back into his skeleton form, and there wasn't much to complain about that.

He wants his skeleton form back. He wants— _needs_ —to be with his wife and daughter again.

He had made her a promise that he intends to keep.

Héctor sighs again. He abhors the thought of stealing, especially on  _Día de los Muertos_ , but the thought of returning to where he really belongs and being with his family overrides his uneasiness about the first part of the plan.

"I'll do it..." he whispers in defeat, but he can't stop the hope that flutters in his chest and makes his heart skip a beat in anticipation.

Even if he has to wait a year.

xxxx

_"Remember me...though I have to say goodbye..."_

Coco sings softly to her mother as they sit together on her bed at home in the Land of the Dead. She can recall the times she would stand outside her daughter's room listening to Coco sing by herself, unaware that her mother was actually listening. Many times Imelda had considered storming in on her to make her stop singing, to yell at her that no, Papá was  _never coming back!_   _He abandoned us and chose music over his family!_

But she'd never had the heart.

_"I wanted Coco to forget you too, but..."_

But her daughter deserved to hang onto what hope she had that one day, she would see her Papá again. The letters might have stopped, but somehow, someway, just  _maybe_  he would change his mind and return. Coco chose hope over the anguish that Papá would never come back, over the sadness that he had left them.

His return never happened, but Coco had never lost that hope.

Not like she had...Imelda doesn't know how her daughter pulled through until the day of her arrival in this land. If Miguel hadn't played the lullaby to her when he had, she might have forgotten everything, taking that hope along with her.

But Coco doesn't have to worry about her mother walking in on her after she had banned music any longer, forcing her to sing quietly as possible so she wouldn't be caught. Imelda faintly wonders if banning music again would help heal her rapidly breaking heart, but shakes the thought away—she can't do that to her family. Not again, no matter how much Héctor's absence hurt. It wasn't  _his_  fault he was now stuck in the Land of the Living...he had to be hurting just as much as them, if not  _more_  now that he was human and his heart had returned.

In a way, Ernesto de la Cruz had gotten what he wanted, and it makes her nonexistent blood want to boil.

_"Remember me...don't let it make you cry..."_

Imelda wants to sing along, but finds she can't bring herself to even mouth the words. She wants to cry herself to sleep, but the dead can't cry and even if they could, she wouldn't lose her strength in front of their daughter. Picturing Héctor in Coco's place on the bed is too much for her to bear, and she almost has to look away but forces herself to continue listening until the song fades and Coco stops singing.

She glances at Héctor's spirit guitar now laying on the end of the bed for only a moment before turning her attention back to Coco.

"You're being so strong,  _mija._  I'm proud of you," Imelda says quietly, inching closer to her daughter to wrap her arms around Coco in a hug. "And he would be, too," she makes sure to add, closing her eyes at the thought of Héctor now stuck in the Land of the Living.

They'd left him.  _She_  had left him, and she isn't sure if she'll ever be able to forgive herself for that—leaving Hector just after he had changed from a skeleton to a human. The Department of Family Reunions hadn't been able to do a single thing, and now they would likely be separated for many more years to come.

"Maybe this is a good thing, Mamá..."

Imelda opens her eyes, but doesn't say anything in return, simply allowing her daughter to explain. She can't exactly see how it was a  _good_  thing to be separated from her husband once more, but maybe what Coco has to say will shed light on her statement.

"Papá was killed at such a young age," Coco continues, shifting uneasily in her spot. Imelda takes her arms away so she can move easier, and Coco begins to lay down to try falling asleep for the night.

Her first night without Papá...

"Maybe we should let him live. So many people die every day, and not a single person has ever come back to life. We should allow him the chance to live. If he dies again so soon, he would be wasting a very special chance not everyone will get."

Coco's words stick with her the rest of the night, and she's unable to chase them away.

_A very special chance..._

It was true. Coming back to life was a very special chance, indeed. It wasn't a curse at all, just as the clerk had explained. It was difficult to believe that such a happy and unexpected thing could possibly happen, only for it to be so  _sad_  because once again, he was separated from his wife and daughter for who knew how long this time?

Others would  _kill_  for this opportunity if they were desperate enough, and if they weren't already dead. She was glad it hadn't been de la Cruz of all people. It might be selfish or wrong to think, but Héctor was one of the skeletons who deserved a chance the most out of everyone.

But she couldn't continue her afterlife without him...could she? Imelda tries to picture Héctor returning as an old man who had passed warm in his bed, surrounded by loved ones instead of having been left in a strange town alone with no one he knew aside from his killer. De la Cruz had left him by himself after the evil deed was complete, not even sending a letter to let them know that something had happened. He could have lied, he could have said that Héctor had passed from a sickness...but not even that. Instead, Imelda had been left to assume the worst: that Héctor had abandoned them, maybe even giving up his dream altogether to be with another woman.

How could she have ever thought such a thing, and how could she have turned him away without even giving him a chance to explain when she had first arrived in the Land of the Dead? Héctor loved his family too much to even think of abandoning them or running off with someone else, and Imelda scolds herself for giving into the lies and whispers Santa Cecilia began when he never returned.

The thought of a much older skeleton-Héctor somehow doesn't sit well with her. He would still be himself, but... _not_  himself at the same time. Though he wouldn't be close to the Final Death, his bones would be slower and more sensitive—almost like Coco. Not that it was a bad thing to die at such an old age, but she would find herself missing the younger, full of energy and life Héctor that she had first fallen in love with. He would be older and wiser, gaining experience in the living world he never had before as the years wore on and on.

_"Maybe this is a good thing, Mamá..."_

Imelda grips the bed sheets tighter, the ceiling above not offering much in terms of comfort. If she concentrates hard enough, she can almost feel a lump sitting on the top of her legs, but not just any lump— _Dante._  He would always curl himself up at the end of the bed with her and Héctor before Coco had arrived, and when she had arrived at last, he would keep their daughter warm, as well.

Imelda thinks she can almost feel the  _alebrije_  move to snuggle in between her and Coco, but it's most likely just her imagination.

Dante is gone, and there isn't anything they can do.

Just like Héctor is gone, and there isn't anything they can do in separate lands. For the first time, Imelda feels trapped inside the place she had come to accept after her death. Now that  _Día de los Muertos_  was over, they wouldn't be able to go back across the bridge until the next holiday. There was no way they could see or check how Héctor was doing, and even when the next holiday finally came, he might not even be able to see  _or_  hear them...just like a living person.

Imelda isn't sure if she'll be able to return home for a night in the living world if Héctor wouldn't even be able to  _see_  her.

This wasn't right. It wasn't  _natural!_  Things like this just don't  _happen!_

But it  _had._

Coco's words ring through her mind again as her eyes begin to close at last, unable to chase them away.

_Maybe we should let him live._


	5. Chapter 5

Héctor finds it strange.

For so long, he had been trying his hardest to get to the Land of the Living. He'd done his best to try and see Coco before her memory of him faded forever, and he would no longer be able to even _attempt_  to see her.

Now he's stuck in the very place he had been trying so hard to get to, but now he wants to go  _back_  to where he had been trapped for so long.

Oh, the irony.

_You're alive again. You should be happy,_ he tells himself sternly.

How many people get to come back to life?

No one.

As far as Héctor knows, he's the first to  _ever_  come back to life. But it hadn't been his  _choice_  to come back to life. Ernesto and his group forced this fate on him, just as he had done so long ago except with poison. They might not have known what would happen exactly, but Ernesto had assumed it wouldn't be anything good. It  _was_  a good thing to be brought back to life, but not for him. He had died too long ago at the hands of his former best friend, and Héctor has to wonder if Ernesto's murder had played a part in the man's fate, as well. He hadn't been anywhere near the Final Death, yet sunrise in the Land of the Living had taken him in almost the same way.

Héctor can only guess that it doesn't matter if one is well-remembered. If a skeleton stays in the Land of the Living after sunrise, they had to face the consequences no matter who they were—even an  _alebrije_  like Dante.

But coming back to life wasn't a consequence...was it? If it had been a curse, Miguel's blessing would have worked. He hadn't stolen anything...yet.

_Coming back to life is not a curse. It's a blessing,_  his tired mind whispers. If only he could convince himself...

If it had been anyone else besides him, they probably would be jumping for joy, especially if they were already close to being forgotten. Why couldn't it have been one of his makeshift family in Shantytown? They deserved a second chance at life more so than he ever did, even if they weren't able to cross the bridge.

Still, he would have rather been turned into an _alebrije,_  like Felipe had suggested what might happen because of the rumors they'd heard. At least then, he would still be with his deceased family...with Imelda and Coco. He could have served a greater purpose like Dante, simply being there for his family and guiding souls to their destination. But staying out after sunrise had unpredictable consequences for each person as they had also told him, and coming back to life just so happened to be one of them.

The day is growing darker outside the window. He waits for something,  _anything_  to happen—maybe Imelda and the others will find a way to bring him back home from there, as Miguel had suggested. But nothing happens as he lays in the guest room bed, something he knows he shouldn't be getting used to.

_You're with family. It isn't like when..._

When Ernesto had murdered him and left him all alone. Left his  _body_ all alone...if he was physically here in person, then where was his body that was most likely put in an unmarked grave, somewhere unknown? The thought is too disturbing to even think about, so he quickly pushes it away before his stomach can bring up his disgust.

_They don't know you're family,_  his persistent and pessimistic inner voice tells him.  _You don't belong here. You know you don't._

If Héctor didn't know any better, it was like he'd died all over again already. He feels a hint of gratefulness that he'd been given an unexpected second chance, but joy and happiness would be much easier to achieve...if it wasn't for his deceased family he'd left behind to be with his living one.

He faintly wonders if it would be a good idea to actually reveal the truth, to just be honest as he probably should. He and Miguel can trust their family—trust that they wouldn't panic too badly, that they would believe the two of them and wouldn't send him away somewhere. Another part of him agrees with Miguel that they should keep it a secret for now to be safe.

_So what if they know? You still wouldn't belong. You're not supposed to be here. Your time was up long ago the moment you decided to leave._

_But you should be happy you're here,_  the opposing, more optimistic voice argues.

Héctor groans quietly, wanting to put a pillow over his head to quiet his pestering thoughts, but every muscle in his living body  _aches._  Since returning from the cemetery, he and Miguel had to rush to make it back before anyone noticed they were gone. Someone may have left him new clothes, but they probably assumed that he just needed something new to change into. Héctor figures that with his somewhat made-up story about being kicked out of home, his former clothes also fell in line with the explanation, and someone in the Rivera family had been kind enough to lend him their own.

Even little movement such as lifting his arm sends fire shooting through his newly-developed veins, and before he knows it he's stuck in the bed completely, unable to get up.

"I'm sorry I took you to the cemetery," Miguel apologizes as he comes back into the room and sits in the chair again. He holds the guitar, ready to try and come up with the new song he'd been talking about. But for now all he can focus on is his great-great grandfather, so the guitar isn't being put to good use as it rests in his grip.

"Why would you be sorry for doing that?" Héctor questions in a whisper, eyes blinking wearily at his grandson and almost unable to keep them open. "I'm glad you did," he adds to the best of his ability, but it only comes out in a tired mumble.

He was glad they had gone to the cemetery, despite how exhausted it made him because of all the walking. Even if Miguel's blessing hadn't worked, he was glad they'd tried at least  _something_  that might have been able to send him back to his home. If he had remained stuck on this bed, he didn't know what he would have done; probably try to get up without Miguel's help and hurt himself even worse than he was now.

A single, small movement of his head so he can see Miguel better from where he lays sends fire stabbing through his skull, and he can't hide a wince.

Miguel looks back at him sorrowfully.

"Because Mamá said you needed to take it easy," he says. "I guess that wasn't taking it easy, especially since you're still getting used to being...alive."

"It's okay, don't worry. I'll be fine," Héctor reassures, though from the way he's feeling now it's most likely far from the truth.

Miguel doesn't seem to be too sure.

"So your new name is Gael?" He asks curiously, as if to try and distract him from his weariness.

Héctor nods. He'd told Miguel about his new name on the way back from the cemetery before he could have forgotten altogether, which wouldn't have been a good thing if Miguel accidentally said his real name in front of anyone; he was lucky he hadn't accidentally said it himself.

"It was one of the names I used trying to get across the bridge," he says. Miguel smiles weakly, most likely thinking of just how many times he'd attempted to get across to try and see Coco. "For some reason, it's the one name that's stuck with me the most."

Laughter outside brings a tired smile to his face—Benny and Manny, if he remembers the twins' names correctly. It sounds like they're chasing each other, or being chased by someone like how he used to play with Coco. Maybe Rosa, but then he figures that she might be a little too old to be playing a game like tag.

Miguel returns the smile, listening to the outside laughter and fun-filled screams. He begins to play a simple tune on the guitar to warm up. He strums the strings, and Héctor can feel himself beginning to nod off already. Héctor can tell he's eager to begin working on his new song in case his parents ask him to play it later on. The boy doesn't pressure him into helping just yet, settling for creating a soothing melody that doesn't even need lyrics, already lulling Héctor into a more peaceful rest than he'd had the night before.

Music came naturally to the kid. If he could get him to fall asleep so soon already, then once the lyrics were written, the whole  _world_  would be sent off into a deep sleep.

Or maybe it was just so easy for him to fall asleep because this body makes him so, so  _tired._  Skeletons never became tired or sleepy. They could sleep if they wanted to, but it wasn't  _needed._

"I meant to ask this earlier, but...how is Dante, Papa Héctor? I really miss him since he can only come once a year, now." Sometimes, Miguel wishes that his best friend hadn't turned into a real  _alebrije._  If he was still just a regular dog that followed him around Santa Cecilia, he would be here now.

Héctor's smile fades at the sudden, unexpected question, but Miguel doesn't seem to notice.

"Is he getting used to his wings?" The boy presses, desperately wanting to know more about his best friend's  _alebrije_  form. Héctor wants to smile at Dante's silly antics—the way he would try to hover in place, or the many falls and crashes he'd had to endure to get used to flight—but his memory of the poor dog fading before his eyes prevents the smile from coming into existence.

Héctor sighs, knowing this moment would come sooner than later, and not expecting it to be  _sooner._

He knows he can't keep it from him for long, and that he especially couldn't wait until next year if the  _xolo_  wouldn't even be able to show himself to Miguel; it would definitely ruin his grandson's holiday. He has to tell him  _now,_  unless he wants Miguel to be angry that he hadn't told him sooner.

"Miguel—"

An ear-shattering scream suddenly sounds out of nowhere. Miguel's head shoots straight up, brown eyes wide with terror. Héctor can feel his insides—his  _blood_ —freeze at the sound, eyes widening just as much as Miguel's.

_If I have blood, does that mean I can bleed?_  He can't help but question faintly. As a skeleton, he could fall apart and bring himself back together at will; he assumes it's not a good idea to try such a thing as a living person.

"That's _Abuelita!"_  Miguel says in a rush, already suspecting that her scream might be because of a certain photo missing. "I'll be right back," he says quickly, almost sending the guitar clattering to the ground before gently placing it back in its spot.

Héctor, eyes still wide, can only guess what must have made his  _abuelita_  scream so loudly.

xxxx

Miguel finds that his suspicion is correct when he enters the  _ofrenda_  room and sees her standing by the  _ofrenda_  itself. She stares just as wide-eyed as he is at the photo that used to sit on the top, no longer in place.

"Where has it gone?!" She says wildly, pointing directly at the  _ofrenda_  and already bending to check and see if it had fallen somewhere. Luisa and Enrique rush into the room, Miguel's father panting and having to bend down himself so he could catch his breath.  _Abuelita_  Elena turns towards her son to give him an angry glare.

"It was that man. That stranger we brought into our home," she accuses sharply, pointing in the direction of the guest room. Miguel follows her gesture, frowning.

Enrique stares at the  _ofrenda,_  then glances to his wife for help. She can only shrug lightly to let him know that she's unsure. Their guest had only been with them for such a short time, but her expression falters in uncertainty.

"No! He was with me the whole time," Miguel defends Héctor quickly. He spots a newcomer out of the corner of his eye. "Right, Rosa?"

His cousin arrives as if on cue, standing by the door as she watches the group frantically search for the missing photo. Enrique is already on his knees, checking underneath and around the  _ofrenda._  Rosa pauses for just a moment, comprehending Miguel's question before she nods. He notices that she's holding a piece of paper with typed writing from a computer, and she lifts it up with a knowing gaze. For now he can only shrug, shaking his head in confusion, but it seems as if she has some sort of plan he's unaware of.

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Enrique says in an attempt to be rational. "He's been in that bed this whole time and still isn't well, Mamá. I'm still considering calling a doctor."

"No!" Miguel shouts again. His parents stare at him, obviously confused as to why he was so against the man receiving medical treatment that he needed. Miguel isn't sure why he himself is so hesitant, either; a doctor couldn't possibly deduct that Héctor was from the Land of the Dead, but he doesn't want to take any chances—they have to be careful!

"Oh...it was Héctor's first  _Día de los Muertos_ , and now this happens..." Elena says mournfully, eyes darting this way and that around the  _ofrenda_  room. They suddenly land on Miguel, and the boy can't help but shrink back. Elena takes his action the wrong way, her glare hardening suspiciously.

"Do you have something to do with this?" She asks, her tone gentle. Miguel can hear the sharpness she fails holding back, anyway.

_Yes,_  Miguel answers in his mind. He knows exactly where the photo is, and he won't share it with anyone or put it back on the _ofrenda_  until he feels his family is ready. Just talking about the photo is risky, the possibility of recognizing Héctor fairly high if they think about it hard enough.

"No," Miguel replies to his  _abuelita_  as honestly as he can. He doesn't look away, but he can't help gripping his arm uncomfortably. Elena isn't sure if she believes him, but doesn't push the matter further. Miguel had changed so much over the course of a year, from trying to walk out on her  _ofrenda_  'lectures' to standing in front of it and telling baby Socorro stories about their ancestors—that they should always be remembered.

He wouldn't have anything to do with the missing photo...right?

"Tío Enrique..." Rosa speaks up, bringing forth the piece of typed paper she'd been holding.

Enrique takes the paper and stares, brow furrowing. "What's this?"

"We're doing a project at school about the homeless."

Miguel's eyes widen at her answer, and he has to hold back a smile just as wide.

"Yes...?" Luisa says.

"Well, I thought maybe I could get extra credit by actually having a homeless person stay with us, especially since that man is already here."

"For how long?" Enrique asks, uncertain how he feels about the idea yet.

"A year. Just to see how he would adjust to living with a family. Maybe I can interview him, too," she adds to keep the 'school project' idea going.

"I don't like it," Elena instantly disagrees, her head shaking. "You said he told you he made 'certain choices' that caused his mother and father disown him. What kind of choices could those have possibly been?"

"Miguel seems to trust him. He hasn't caused any trouble since we first brought him here," Enrique reasons.

"What about the photo?! For all we know, he's the one who took it!" Elena accuses again.

"Why would a homeless person want one of our photos?" Rosa can't help but chip in.

_Because he's actually related to us,_  she answers her own question dully. Deep down however, she knows it had to have been Miguel in order to protect Héctor's identity for the time being.

"We will come to a conclusion about this on our own," Luscia scolds gently. Rosa remains quiet, staring down at the floor and mumbling a sincere apology.

"You would really trust him around Socorro and the other children?" Elena questions sharply.

"He doesn't have to be around them. Not yet," Enrique reasons again, taking a quick glance at his son. "Miguel has been keeping a pretty good eye on him so far."

Miguel can't believe it. This couldn't really be happening...could it? He hadn't even begun to think of a way he could convince his parents to let Héctor stay, but now Rosa has unexpectedly taken care of that for him. He's suddenly very  _glad_ he let her in on their little secret.

"He said he has a family, but they threw him out! He can just go back to them and apologize, make up for the things he's done somehow—he is a fully responsible adult," Elena reminds them. Enrique falters at this, unsure of how to move forward but slowly coming to his own conclusion.

He and his wife would handle Gael themselves. The man had said that he'd gotten kicked out of his home because of certain choices he had made, as Elena stressed. Enrique himself wonders just what kind of choices those were, but it can't have been anything worse than their own Papa Héctor's choice to leave his family for music. For all he knows, Gael is in a similar situation as Héctor, and just needs a little push to make things right with his own family so they would accept him again like they had. Maybe he would even be useful around the workshop if offered a job?

"As an adult, he will go back to his family when he is ready," Enrique decides, firm in his choice. "We are not his family, so we can't make that decision for him...but we can help him."

"So...does that mean he can stay?" Miguel asks, hesitant. He needs to be sure...he can't believe it was as simple as lying about a school project! He has to stop himself from jumping for joy right then and there!

"Your father and I will think about it," Luisa answers with a small smile. She's happy her son is so willing to help someone in need and based on what the man had told them, he did not currently have a family or home to go back to that was willing to take him in again. He had explained that he'd had an argument with his parents about certain choices, causing him to be kicked out. They would be sending him back into the streets, and she just doesn't feel right going through with that. There might be homeless shelters, but why not let Miguel and Rosa learn a valuable lesson all while she completed an important school project?

_A bit of a coincidence that this project comes up when we have our guest,_ Enrique thinks to himself, but they have more important matters to worry about.

"Let's keep looking for the photo," he says, determination returning as he continues the search. "It can't have gone too far."

Miguel feels terrible for sending his parents and  _abuelita_  on a temporary wild goose chase for the photo that he had taken off of the  _ofrenda_  and hidden somewhere safe, but his joy at the idea that Héctor might be getting to stay with them overpowers the guilt.

"We need to find the photo before next year, or else our ancestors will not be able to cross over. Poor Héctor...his first and last  _Día de los Muertos_  if we don't find it soon!" Elena voices her concern, still not liking the idea of having the stranger stay with them. In the back of her mind, he's still the reason the photo was gone.

Miguel understands the importance of putting back the photo on the  _ofrenda,_  possibly more so than anyone in his family—especially now that he knows their ancestors really  _are_  out there. He'd promised himself the moment he took it off that he would put it back as soon as they found a way home for Héctor. They had, but he would have to wait a year before returning the photo. He would have no choice, seeing as Mamá Imelda and the others need the photo to be up so they can cross over. Miguel can only hope that by the time the year was over, Héctor will have changed enough in at least appearance to not raise any suspicion.

"You're a genius!" Miguel tells Rosa in his excitement as they exit the ofrenda room to get ready for bed.

"I know," she replies with a smug grin. "Aren't you glad you told me the truth?"

xxxx

Héctor wakes again, not even remembering when he'd fallen asleep. His body still feels so  _heavy,_  so limp and burning from sore muscles that he guesses he'd fallen asleep without even realizing it, waking up once again in the middle of the night.

The dead don't get to enjoy life in their land like the living do in theirs—one of the downsides of being... _dead._  From his living body's strange and new sensations, to eating and having to go to the bathroom, Héctor thinks he would rather be deprived of all those things and just be content to exist with his family.

Stealing...he would have to stoop to Ernesto's level to get back home to them. Just like Ernesto had stolen his songs and his life, he would have to steal something of upmost importance.

Would he really be able to go through with it?

_"It might be the only way,"_  Miguel's words ring.

That wasn't entirely true...

Héctor stares into the darkness, a shadow leaping towards and enveloping his consciousness. He doesn't fight, allowing the shadow to all but consume him. Gradually he's tempted to get up despite his burning muscles and find something sharp, or get lost somewhere no one would ever find him and stay there until he succumbs to starvation. He would become so ill that if anyone found him, he wouldn't be able to recover. It wouldn't hurt any worse than being murdered or transforming back into a human, right? It would be worth it if he was able to be with his family again...

He'd died once already. He knows what awaits him on the other side—his family that he's let down enough times already. He needs to get back to them sooner than later, but...

The door to the guest room opens, and he's surprised to find someone different come in other than Miguel. He figures that even though Miguel is on a little 'vacation' from school currently, his parents still won't allow him to stay the whole night, especially not with a stranger they hardly knew.

It's Rosa this time, and she's gazing at him with uncertain, curiosity-filled eyes that glance behind her at the door to make sure no one else will come in. Héctor suspects that either Miguel or his parents had told her not to come in and disturb him, but she hadn't listened, anyway. It wasn't like he was going to get a good night's sleep; it seemed that he always ended up waking in the middle of the night without any kind of disturbances. Maybe it had something to do with his new body becoming used to regular sleeping cycles...the dead didn't need to sleep, but they slept anyway just like they could eat, drink and breathe—all for pleasure but never  _real._

So far, he's grateful that he hasn't been alone yet whenever he wakes up like this.

His attention turns back to Rosa, and his sneaking suspision that he's about to be interrogated turns out to be correct. He truly doesn't mind the distraction from all the sensations of his living body for the time being, especially his sore muscles.

She jumps slightly when they make eye contact before moving to sit in the chair, obviously not expecting Héctor to actually be awake. Would she have stayed there studying him for awhile? Héctor can't blame her, but he's not sure how he feels about the idea. He supposes that he can't blame her for being so curious about a dead man coming back to life.

Who wouldn't be?

"So...you're really our great-great grandfather?" She asks as if to be sure. He understands Miguel had shown her the photo, so of course she knows but wants to hear it directly from him; it was a hard thing to believe, after all.

So he nods in confirmation, giving just the slightest smile to show she doesn't have anything to be afraid of.

"And you came from a place called the Land of the Dead..." she says in almost a murmur that he can't hear.

He nods again, unsure of where she's going with her questions. Vaguely, he wonders if this was what she'd been like with Miguel before he'd had to tell her the truth about him.

"So that means there  _is_  life after death?"

_Oh._

Héctor isn't sure if he should be telling this to her, let alone anyone living, for that matter. He can trust Rosa to keep a secret, and even if she did tell someone, they likely wouldn't believe her. Yet he's not fully comfortable with revealing what nature had intended to remain a mystery. Miguel was one of the first, if not the first human to know what happens after death, and it should probably stay that way.

He nods gently again anyway, barely having enough strength to make the small movement. Rosa stays silent, processing this new information in whatever way she'll handle it until she speaks again. Héctor's eyes begin to slide shut on their own accord, but before they can close completely, Rosa interrupts once more.

"What's it like to die?"

Héctor blinks at the question, glancing back at her quickly.

_You're too young to worry about death,_  he thinks, anxiety about why she had asked a question like that twisting in his new gut.

_Gut._ He actually has a gut, now...

"Just curious," she reassures, "you're here, and not many will have the opportunity to ask."

Héctor supposes that it's natural for her to be curious about what happens after death. Putting himself in her shoes, he would want to know a few details about the one thing living humans are so unsure of.

He falters, trying to find the right words.

"It's like...waking up from a long sleep. Peaceful or restless, depending on what kind you had," he whispers, satisfied with the answer he'd come up with.

That much was true. Héctor can never forget the first time he'd woken up in the Land of the Dead after being poisoned by Ernesto. Gripping his stomach in agony as the poison had done its job, he'd definitely had a 'restless sleep' while others passed much more peacefully, accepting that they wouldn't be able to see their living loved ones for a long time.

He'd never been able to accept such a thing, determined to try to find a way to see his daughter. Now that he was back in the Land of the Living, he was still having trouble just accepting that he has a heart once again, and that he's stuck in the very place he had been trying to get to for so many years.

Rosa nods in respect.

"What was it like for you?"

He thinks of all the years he'd attempted to see Coco, and all of his failed plans. He thinks of everything in between—his high and low moments, wishing he could see his daughter one last time and then miraculously meeting his great-great grandson.

"A bit of both," he chuckles lightly, only to fall into a harsh coughing fit so he has to cover his mouth. He suddenly feels cold, and his body begins to shiver underneath the bed covers. He does his best to control the shakes, but just enough so Miguel's cousin won't notice.

Why was it so  _cold?_

Rosa soaks in the information, her glasses gleaming in the moonlight that seeps in through the window.

"So...you have to wait a year until you can go back, right?"

_"Si,"_  Héctor answers. He doesn't know what else he can say; that even if he waited a year to steal something and be sent back, it might not even work at all?

_Don't think like that,_  he has to remind himself again.

"Thanks for telling me..." Rosa whispers. Her expression brightens a little. "Tía Luisa and Tío Enrique might let you stay!"

His eyes widen in surprise. "Really?"

"Maybe," Rosa says honestly. "They said they'll think about it, but...that's a start, right? I would try and come up with a story in case they ask you about your 'family' again."

Héctor can't believe his ears. Miguel's parents are actually considering letting him stay with them?

" _Gracias_  for the warning," he thanks Rosa sincerely.

She smiles, getting up from the chair to leave. Before he knows it, he's alone in the room again with only his guitar propped up on the stand. He thinks about playing  _Remember Me_  again, but decides against it.

The dark shadow returns to envelop his being. But as soon as the thought reenters his mind, it leaves just as quickly. If he had gone through with his temptation, he might have never heard Rosa...he shudders, forcing his mind to block the thought out.

He would never be able to do such a thing to himself, let alone while he's with his living family. They don't know anything about him—they're already suspicious of him as a stranger, what would they think if he went through with such an act, especially if they were just considering letting him stay? What kind of example would he set for Miguel?

That when things got tough, too much to handle, you just...gave up?

_No._

He imagines Miguel's pained reaction, or would he even react at all, knowing that he had died already before? To Miguel there wouldn't be anything to be sad about, especially knowing there was a Land of the Dead in the first place. The possibility scares him that his grandson may be becoming too desensitized towards that which was meant to be unknown, and only further concretes his decision to remain in the living world as he is.

He could never do such a thing to himself; he would never do that to his great-great grandson. The deed was done—he's alive now and has to make the best of it without taking any shortcuts.

He  _wants_  to make the best of it by being with his family and getting to know each of them, even if they might not know  _him._

A year is a long time to wait, but he tells himself that he can do it.

It would go by in the blink of an eye!

He'd waited over ninety years to see Coco; he can wait one more.

For Miguel.


	6. Chapter 6

Héctor stares suspiciously at the cup of water that Miguel holds out to him.

First he had to eat...

Now he has to drink? He'd forgotten just how  _needy_  the human body was. The last time he had taken a drink, it had ended his life. Who knew what was in this cup? Not that it would matter if his life ended a second time, but Héctor's unbridled human emotions can't help feeling anxiety. Besides, he'd promised himself that he was going to live—live for Miguel. He'd already broken one promise to Coco, so he wouldn't allow himself to break another so soon.

"You're dehydrated," Miguel explains as he brings the cup closer towards his  _stubborn_  great-great grandfather. Héctor shakes his head, pulling the bed sheets over himself to block his mouth.

"It's okay," Miguel reassures softly in understanding. If he was in Héctor's place, he would be suspicious as well, even if the water came from someone he could trust.

 _It's Miguel,_  Héctor tries in vain to comfort himself.  _Your great-great grandson. He is not Ernesto._

He inwardly smacks himself for even thinking such a thing. But the glass, and the water...it was all too similar to the night he would rather just forget altogether.

"You need it," Miguel insists, "you'll feel much better if you get some liquids in you."

Héctor lifts his head up from under the covers. Miguel was probably repeating words that his Mamá or Papá had told him regarding their guest's current state of health. Nevertheless, it didn't change the fact that yes, he needed something to drink.

_"I'm sending you off with a toast!"_

To the best of his ability, he doesn't allow the memory to materialize any further.

 _It's Miguel,_  he tells himself again to stop the creeping anxiety.  _Your family. You can trust your family._

The former skeleton knows he has no choice, unless he wants to make his body weaker than it already is. He desperately wants to get up, to start helping his family in the workshop—do  _anything_  to make time go by faster, but until he's finally used to being alive, none of that will happen.

Eating, getting up, walking and now drinking were all things beginning to take a toll on him when they really shouldn't be—it was all normal (as close to normal as he could get, anyway) and natural for humans.

He has to remind himself that he's a human again himself now, sitting up a little straighter. Miguel smiles brightly, waiting patiently.

"If you don't drink something soon, we might have to take you to the hospital," he adds seriously. The hospital was a no-no. Who knew what they would find out about him, and what they would do after the fact? They couldn't let that happen!

Miguel's smile widens further when Héctor decides to give in at last, reaching a hand forward to take hold of the glass cup.

It's still a shock to him that he can actually touch objects in the Land of the Living now, his hand tensing as it grips the cup. Miguel releases his own hand and Héctor reluctantly brings it to his mouth, tipping his head slightly backwards. His mouth opens and he allows the liquid to enter, shivering slightly as the cool sensation travels into his stomach. It had always been strange to him that as a skeleton, liquids would simply just disappear into stomachs that they no longer possessed; he'd figured that they would at least  _see_  liquids disappear. It was no different as a human, and Héctor is grateful that at least one thing is the same, or similar at least to his skeleton body.

He drinks until there's hardly anything left in the glass, which makes Miguel satisfied as he takes the cup back to set it on the stand.

Héctor has to admit that he does indeed feel a little better now that he has some fluids in him, his sore and hidden bones relaxing just the slightest. He thinks back to before Coco had remembered him—back to when his bones were fragile and could easily fall apart due to not being as well-remembered as other skeletons. Whether or not his past injuries play a part in how tired and weak he is now, he isn't sure.

Since Miguel had helped Coco remember him in time before the Final Death claimed him, his bones had changed from their discolored status to more of the pure white like Imelda and the others. Miguel had kept his promise; he'd made Coco remember, passing down her stories of him to their family and his home in the living world, so he figures that injuries like his limp hadn't been passed down to his current human form.

He'd been walking more than he should have already, and no limp had been present as far as he could tell. It was just because of walking so  _much_  that he was feeling so tired.

Miguel strums a few strings on the guitar where he sits, working on the melody for his new lullaby. The lyrics still haven't been written, but Héctor has a feeling they may be inspired by what had happened to his grandfather since being stuck in the Land of the Living as the words 'marigold petals' flow from his mouth, or perhaps about his adventure in the Land of the Dead the year prior. Either way, Miguel certainly had a lot of inspiration at hand when it came to writing a new song. He just hopes no one would start asking the boy questions if they became suspicious because of a few lyrics—not that anyone would believe him.

The word  _'alebrije'_  causes his heart to skip a beat—a sensation that he still hasn't gotten used to—and he isn't sure if he ever will.

Miguel doesn't ask about Dante again, but Héctor knows he has to tell him. He can't keep holding back, or his grandson would be even more heartbroken later on. He sighs a bit loudly, but Miguel doesn't seem to hear the sound through the guitar.

"Miguel..." Héctor says slowly. Miguel stops playing, glancing up at his grandfather.

"Do you want some more water?" Miguel asks.

Héctor could say yes. He could say yes, and avoid the subject of Dante altogether...but he can't. He has to deal with the lost  _alebrije_  now. He shakes his head in response to the question about water, preparing himself for a possible emotional outbreak from the both of them—Miguel likely to be first since Dante was his best friend.

"I was going to tell you this earlier, but then your  _abuelita_  screamed..." Héctor says, regretting that he had ever even said something.

"Oh, yeah...that." Miguel shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I kind of took your photo down from the  _ofrenda."_

Héctor hadn't expected  _that_  to be the reason why Elena had screamed, but it was perfectly understandable. Still...

"What?! Why would you do that?" Héctor asks almost sharply, but he keeps a harsh tone from emerging.

"So they don't find out that you're... _you!_  That you're Papa Héctor who's supposed to be gone," Miguel explains to defend his decision about the photo.

Héctor should have known. Miguel wants to keep his true identity a secret from the others, and Héctor agrees with him that they should—it would just be too much of a shock, and if anyone else found out that he had returned from the dead, who knew what would happen?

"Is the photo safe?" Héctor asks cautiously. He knows the answer already, but he just wants to make  _sure._

Miguel nods. "I know exactly where it is," he confirms.

"Show me," Héctor can't help but state. His body may still be a little sore, but it wasn't as bad as when they had returned from the cemetery. He might make the sore feeling worse by walking again, but so be it. The photo was important, and even if he had faith in Miguel to keep it safe, he wants to see it with his own eyes.

"Are you sure? You're not that sore now?" Miguel asks, as if he'd read his mind.

Héctor shakes his head. He needs to see the photo, the issue of Dante slipping his mind. He's grateful the subject had once again been avoided, but he can't keep it hidden forever.

"Please. Not that I don't trust you, but...I need to know it's safe," he says, already starting to get up from the bed. If any of the other Riveras saw him up and about, it was a risky move—especially if he wanted to be able to stay. Once someone saw him, he would not have any excuses to stay in the bed.

Miguel understands his need to see for himself. The photo—apart from his family—was one of the most important aspects of Héctor's afterlife. It was perfectly reasonable that he wanted to check and see if it was okay, so Miguel agrees.

Despite the fact that his muscles aren't as sore, his legs wobble as he attempts to stand and walk for the second time. Miguel sticks close by his side in case he needs support, but Héctor pushes himself forward with as much effort as he can muster on his own, knowing that he has to get used to walking on skin-covered legs sooner or later. If he was going to stay in the Land of the Living for a year, he has to start learning how to live again, and it was better that he did so sooner than later.

Once his shoes are on, the two make their way out of the bedroom. Miguel leads him past the  _ofrenda_  room, but a quiet sob causes him to stop and go back. Miguel turns, reaching forward to tug at his shirt sleeves.

"Come on," he whispers in a rush. They have to hurry before anyone catches them wandering around, or if someone finds Héctor missing from the bed.

But Héctor stays put besides the  _ofrenda_  room door, just out of sight of whoever might be inside.

"I'm sorry," Miguel's  _abuelita_  says so softly that they almost can't hear. "I'm sorry we lost the photo. We couldn't find it, and I have no clue where else to look. I'm so sorry to the both of you...especially you, Papa Héctor."

Miguel's eyes widen at the word 'Papa.' While  _Abuelita_  had grown to be more accepting of Héctor since learning about him through Mamá Coco's stories, she only ever said his first name, and even that was a shock after she had refused to say anything about him for so long.

"It was your first  _Día de los Muertos,_  and now it looks like it may be your last...it was the only photo we had of you two."

Héctor's heart pounds in equal sorrow. Poor Mamá Elena...she doesn't deserve to think that the photo might be gone forever.

"But don't worry. We still have one for dear Coco," she says gratefully, staring at the single photo of Coco itself. She sighs mournfully, smiling sadly. "I'm just sorry you two won't be able to cross over with her next year..."

Héctor shakes his head, ashamed. He doesn't like this...he doesn't like it one bit. While the holiday was over and Imelda didn't currently need to cross over, the photo should be up where it belongs.

Without warning, the single photo of his daughter suddenly falls flat on the ofrenda, and he has to fight the urge to run forward to put it back up. Elena grunts, but for some reason, she doesn't seem surprised.

"It keeps falling over today," Elena mutters to herself in frustration. "I'm sorry, Mamá," she apologizes softly, quickly yet gently placing the photo upright. "We better not have a ghost wandering around here."

Héctor ignores the ghost comment, sighing quietly in relief as Coco's photo stands upright as it should, thankful that Elena had taken care of it so quickly.

"Miguel...this isn't right," he whispers as they begin walking away. Héctor notices that they seem to be heading towards a certain attic, and he wonders just  _how_  he's going to get up there, making him realize that it was indeed the perfect place for Miguel to hide his love of music, as well as a certain photo.

"I know," Miguel admits, visibly cringing in discomfort. He doesn't like it either, but they have to be safe. "When it's time, I promise I'll put it back. Mamá Imelda would probably find a way to hit me with a shoe if I don't."

Another promise made, and Héctor trusts Miguel more than he trusts himself to keep it.

xxxx

"Nobody ever really comes up here except for me, so I knew this would be the perfect place to hide it," Miguel says as they enter the attic. Even after they had discovered his hidden passion for music, the only condition for him to keep on using it was that he would never keep secrets from them again.

Héctor has to duck so his head won't hit the ceiling, then pause to get his breath back; he's not surprised at why no other Riveras ever bothered trying. He doesn't have much luck getting his breath back when another  _ofrenda_  catches his eye.

But it wasn't just any  _ofrenda..._

In the middle of an old television sat the familiar, orange marigold petals alongside glowing yellow candles that lit the dim atmosphere of the attic so they could see, since there were no windows to let in the sun.

"Wow," he breathes in and out just to remind himself  _how._  "This is..."

He stares at the  _ofrenda,_  taking in the framed letters that sit next to the televison, and also the ones pinned to the wall. His eyes finally rest on the photo he's been looking for, the one he worries about the most. It sits directly in the center next to the television, and he can finally breathe a sigh of relief now that he knows for sure it's safe and sound, all thanks to his grandson.

"Dumb? Too cheesy? I kind of figured," Miguel whispers plainly, like it's what he'd expected Héctor to think—but that was far from the truth. "I got rid of all of the de la Cruz stuff and the movies, especially the one where...you know."

Héctor knows. The one movie that revealed how he had  _really_  died. Now that he has a stomach, it makes him sick to think that Ernesto had glorified and exagerrated his death in a movie scene, like it hadn't bothered him at all that he'd  _murdered_  his best friend.

"No, it's...I don't know what to say," he says honestly to Miguel. "But it's not dumb or cheesy," he reassures the boy.

"I didn't have a photo of just you," Miguel explains, "so I put together a few copies of your letters to Mamá Coco. It was a blank space until I had the idea to hide the photo here."

"I love it," Héctor says in confirmation, continuing to stare in awe. Adding the letters was such a simple gesture, yet to him it means the world—that they were going to be preserved and loved for a long time, possibly even passed down to the next generation of Riveras. Just that thought alone was humbling...

"It all used to be for de la Cruz," Miguel mentions, his voice growing quiet at the murderer's name. "You know, before I found out what he did. Well, one of the first things  _I_  did when I got back after Mamá Coco remembered was making an  _ofrenda_  for you, even if I didn't have an extra photo with just you in it."

 _"Gracias,_  Miguel. It's perfect. I wouldn't change a thing," he says, eternally thankful that Miguel had even thought of doing such a thing. For so long, he had been left off the family ofrenda, but now he (technically) had  _two._  Though his human heart weighed in heavily on his losses, it was also capable of thumping with warmth, and so he places a hand over his chest to feel the steady  _beat beat, beat beat._

"Now  _you're_  being cheesy, Papa Héctor—I mean... _Gael,"_  Miguel scolds him playfully. "I have to get used to calling you by your new name."

Héctor laughs mildly, putting his new tongue to use and sticking it out, to which Miguel responds by punching him gently in the arm.

His gaze on the photo becomes downcast as he recalls the moment where everything had gone wrong, unable to get the horrified image of his daughter away. Ernesto fading to dust, and Dante just...fading into nothing along with him.

"I think Ernesto is gone for good now..." Héctor mumbles.

Miguel glances up in shock at the news, not that he was upset by it. "But isn't he still well-remembered by the world? I thought it would be a long time before the Final Death happened to him," he says in confusion.

Héctor sighs, knowing the unavoidable subject that's coming next. There was no more avoiding it, no matter how much both of their hearts were going to break. Telling Miguel would only make the fact official, that it had actually  _happened_  and Dante most likely was never going to come back.

"It doesn't matter if you're still well-remembered. He was stuck on the other side of the bridge, too...because of Dante," Héctor explains wearily, picturing the poor  _alebrije_  fading in front of his eyes.

"Dante?" Miguel asks, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy. Héctor's heart thuds now with anything but warmth as the words continue to flow from his mouth.

"He was there when Ernesto's group kept me from crossing. He managed to push Ernesto himself into the Land of the Living, causing him to fade away almost like the Final Death," Héctor says slowly so that Miguel can take it in. However he was going to react he was going to be there for him. He would no longer have to grieve the loss of Dante alone once Miguel knows.

"What do you mean?" Miguel asks, not putting two and two together yet. But based on the way Héctor talks, it can't be anything good.

"He tried to protect me by attacking Ernesto, but he was stuck in the Land of the Living, too," Héctor reveals, and just as he had anticipated, Miguel's brown eyes begin to shine with unreleased tears.

He makes sure to leave out the fact that Ernesto had kicked his beloved friend; Miguel has enough reasons to loathe de la Cruz already, and he doesn't need another that would hurt his heart almost as much as what Héctor had finally revealed.

"He can't be gone! He has to have survived somehow!" Miguel has to stop himself from shouting, lest he wants any of his family to hear.

"He faded away like Ernesto, Miguel—"

"No! You said when you first woke up that unpredictable things happen to skeletons after sunrise in the Land of the Living! It might affect an  _alebrije_ differently, too!"

Héctor blinks at his barely-contained outburst, unsure of how to react at first.

"I just really miss him," Miguel says, and Héctor can tell he's trying to stop his tears from flowing. He follows his gut to pull the boy close into a hug.

Dante may have faded away like Ernesto, but one slight difference was that he hadn't been consumed by any dust; he'd just simply... _faded,_  vanishing into thin air.

"It's okay,  _mijo._  It's okay," he comforts Miguel softly. "You're right—he has to have survived somehow. Maybe he was just affected in a way we don't know, yet."

"We'll find him. I know we will," Miguel whispers in Héctor's grip. "Even if it won't be in a year and I can't help in the Land of the Dead."

Just like how Héctor knows that he has to 'find' the photo and return it to where it rightfully belongs. Elena crying was enough to break his heart even more than it already was, and he wasn't able to take anymore heartache...even if it meant revealing who he  _really_  was.

As they leave the attic, the photo wobbles—seemingly of its own accord—and drops from the _ofrenda,_  leaving the glass broken and shattered.

xxxx

The pain of losing her husband again is almost unbearable, but she pushes through for the sake of her family.

For Coco.

She has to remain strong. She can't break down in front of them—not again like she had done in Family Grievances.

They stand near the marigold bridge, tempted to try and cross even if they can't, because the holiday is over and has been for the past few days.

Why had she come here, again? She can't seem to remember what she had originally planned to do, apart from attempting to see her husband.

But even if security would be willing to let them cross anyway, what would be the point? They would be able to cross the bridge, but only to the end where the invisible barrier blocked the dead from going any further. Then there was the issue of Héctor even being there in the cemetery, and that was no guarantee.

It was pointless, especially if he wouldn't be able to  _see_  them; just the thought alone makes her heart that she no longer has want to break.

The clerk had been right about needing to be careful next year. Skeletons wanted to know what had happened, why and  _how_  it had happened. There were those that just didn't seem to value privacy, or the fact that Héctor's family was too saddened by their loss to respond to questions they didn't have the answer to.

She's almost grateful that Héctor hasn't yet returned to the Land of the Dead, only to be bombarded by the same questions of how he had come back to life. He would be just as famous, if not more famous than de la Cruz. He would forever from that point on be known as the one skeleton that had a second chance at life. She and Coco are lucky they're not being overcrowded now by those desperately wanting to be reunited with their living family, or those who would use the opportunity for other, more malicious reasons.

If they wanted a chance to come back to life, they would have to find out by staying in the Land of the Living after sunrise on  _Día de los Muertos._  Even then—as the clerk had said—there was a very high chance they wouldn't have the same outcome, and Imelda doesn't know how to explain that in the right words so the desperate ones would understand.

If anyone in the  _living_  world found out a dead person had come back to life, all the fuss might be even worse. She can only hope that Héctor and Miguel are being smart—that they won't reveal the truth to anyone but their family, even if their family might be a risk, as well.

"It's alright, Mamá," her daughter says in a gentle attempt at comfort. Imelda is thankful that she's trying, but it just isn't working, though she will not say that aloud directly to her.

"Miguel is taking good care of him; I know he is," she finishes with a small smile.

 _"Gracias,_  Coco...I know, too. It's just..." Imelda trails off. Of  _course_  Miguel was taking care of Héctor; she can only wonder how he's getting used to his new human body—if he's tried eating and drinking yet, or even walking. But what if he hadn't woken up at all? What if the transformation had been too much for him to handle, and he was trapped in some sort of coma? If he had passed due to his transformation, they would know. He would be here right now with them...just as he was meant to be all along.

But he's not.

Coco smiles sadly as her Mamá appears lost in thought. She simply tells herself that Papá deserves this. He deserves a second chance at life maybe more than any of the other skeletons here, or at least more than anyone in their family.

She grips Imelda's hand, and Imelda grips back.

"I know," Coco responds gently.

They would get through this—they would get through it together...

Until they were _all_  together, no matter how long they would have to wait.

xxxx

Enrique still doesn't know what to think of their guest. He seems to be okay, but they don't know anything about him. They don't know what he's done to make his family disown him, and just thinking of what kind of 'choices' he had made in the past leaves him concerned for his own family's safety.

What confuses him the most, however, is that Miguel seems to be completely comfortable around him, willing to watch him for them while they're busy in the workshop. His son had only met him once last year, yet it seems like he's known him for longer, or at least has an idea of who he  _really_  is.

What wasn't he telling them, and why did he seem somehow... _familiar,_  like he'd seen those brown eyes somewhere before?

Enrique stands in the  _ofrenda_  room, pondering just how the photo could have gone missing. Was his Mamá right? Had the man gotten up from bed without them noticing, and had he come in here to steal their photo?

 _Why would a homeless person want one of our photos?_  Rosa's question echoes. In truth, he wants to know the same thing. It just didn't make any sense...

"I'm sorry we couldn't find it, Papá," the voice of his son startles him out of his thinking. Miguel comes to stand next to him, gazing at the empty top of the _ofrenda._

"It's alright,  _mijo,"_  Enrique tells him softly. "I'm sure we'll find it eventually."

Though is it just him, or does Miguel not seem to be too worried that the only photo they have of his great-great grandfather is missing? When Mamá Coco had remembered her father, she had told their family lots of stories, and Miguel had taken each one to heart— _very_  close to the heart. So much that he would make sure to repeat them every chance he got, almost like a broken record, and tell them to anyone on the street who would listen. Why does he not seem very concerned  _now_  about where the photo might have gone?

Miguel turns around so suddenly that Enrique has to do a double take when he spots their guest standing by the  _ofrenda_  room door— _Gael._  Miguel stares wide-eyed, obviously not expecting him to be up and about, especially since it was getting late now.

 _"Holá,_  Señor," Enrique says calmly as he can. When he notices a piece of paper in the man's hand, he realizes with horror that it's not  _just_  a piece of paper...

Miguel stands behind Enrique, shaking his head  _no_  in warning to Héctor.

 _What are you doing?_  He wants to shout at him.  _Don't do it. We don't know what could happen...what they'll do._

But what worries Miguel even more is the way Héctor's body shakes, a sign that maybe climbing up to the attic was even more strenuous than he had been willing to admit.

"I found this laying on the ground," Héctor says with no hesitation; otherwise, it would seem like he's not telling the truth. Carefully, he reaches his arm out towards Enrique. "I think the frame broke, somehow...I'm sorry."

It's their missing photo now returned by the one his Mamá had suspected to be the thief.

Miguel instantly has to stop himself from screaming Héctor's name. He even has to stop himself from shouting his new name— _Gael_ —unless he wants his father to become suspicious, anyway.

It was too late. This was either going to make his family even more untrustworthy of him, or it would help  _gain_  a little more of their trust. Héctor can only hope against all hope that it's going to be the latter.

Enrique reaches his own arm forward, his hand settling on the photo no longer missing, his hold gentle while Héctor's hand trembles from weariness and building anxiety that he's actually revealing the truth to Miguel's Papá.

He smiles gratefully as he takes the photo in his own hands, and Héctor lets go.

 _"Gracias,_  Señor," Enrique says brightly. His Mamá had been wrong about the man. Perhaps he may have gotten up from the bed at some point and stolen the photo, but now he was returning it, and Enrique was willing to take it back with no questions asked.

"This means a lot to our family," he says as he glances down at the photo. Miguel holds his breath, just waiting for the moment when it would click for his Papá that the man in the photo and the person right in front of him are one and the same.

 _I know,_  Héctor thinks apologetically. _I'm so sorry we took it down._

Climbing back up to the attic again while Miguel had gotten ready for bed was no simple task. When he had found the photo laying broken on the attic floor, it had only further sealed his decision to return it so nothing else would happen.

Enrique pauses when the photo comes into his full view as he lifts it up to his eyes, and Gael stands just in front of him.

_Wait._

It couldn't be...was _this_  why the man was so familiar?

 _They...they can't be the same person,_  his mind races.  _That's impossible._

But does that mean he's somehow  _related_ to them? That he really  _is_ family?

The man named 'Gael' trembles even worse, as if he can't handle what he'd just done. He quickly covers his mouth as a coughing fit erupts, and Enrique takes a cautious step back. If 'Gael' was still sick, then why was he out of bed?

To Miguel's horror, Héctor drops on the spot to the ground, and he doesn't get back up. Enrique collects himself enough to step forward and bend down, placing his free hand that doesn't hold the photo on the man's head.

"He's burning up," he says, and Miguel isn't fond of how serious his tone is.

What was he going to tell his family? That the man they had taken in was somehow... _related_  to them? But Enrique is suddenly far more concerned by the man's health than he is about possibly being related to him, which was just  _impossible._

They would deal with the possible relation issue once he was better at last, when he was able to answer the million questions that were racing through his head.

Miguel's stomach drops when his father says the words he'd dreaded since finding Héctor in the cemetery, the words that he'd done his best to avoid until now.

Héctor had given in and taken the photo off of his personal  _ofrenda,_  choosing to return it to their family. He'd said that he didn't feel as sore, meaning that he was probably starting to feel the slightest bit more comfortable in his human body.

Miguel now knows that it was the complete opposite—that Héctor still has a ways to go before he gets used to being alive during the year that he has.

He knows it's impossible for anyone to discover the truth unless they specifically told them that Héctor had come back from the dead, which was out of the question aside from his family that was about to discover the truth.

But what if they  _did?_

Enrique's decision is firm.

"We need to call a doctor, now."


	7. Chapter 7

_I'll admit that I was hesitant to post this chapter because I'm not a medical expert, especially when it comes to appointments in Mexico, or what it was like going to the doctor when_ _Héctor_ _was first alive. I tried doing some research but couldn't really find anything, but I want to say thanks to_ _superlc529 for sharing your opinion, lol. I'm sorry if things are inaccurate in this chapter and if they are, feel free to let me know and I'll definitely fix it! *buries head under pillow*_

xxxx

Worry is replaced with betrayal.

 _Why, Papa Héctor?_  Miguel questions to himself.  _Why did you do it?_

They'd tried so hard to keep his identity a secret from their family, and for good reason—he was supposed to be  _dead._  The dead can't come back to life, yet here he was. If anyone outside their family manages to find out, then Héctor could be in trouble. They'd start asking questions...or worse.

But deep down, Miguel knows why his grandfather had cracked, giving the photo back to his Papá. They'd both seen his  _abuelita_  break down over the photo in the  _ofrenda_  room, and Héctor just wanted to make her happy again.

Miguel realizes now that taking the photo down may have been the wrong thing to do, especially in Héctor's perspective.

While his grandfather had done the right thing, it wasn't going to be so easy...especially now that his Papá Enrique is waiting for an explanation about the photo that Héctor had given back to him. 'Gael' is back in bed and unconscious, but Enrique hasn't put the photo back on the  _ofrenda._  Miguel sits in his usual spot next to the bed, and Enrique across from him in another, new seat that he'd brought in.

He clutches the photo, staring intently at the man that it contains, and then back to Héctor resting in bed. It's probably not a good idea to be so close to him while he's sick, but Miguel has the idea that he can just use it as another excuse to stay home from school if he catches Héctor's cold. He most likely has a lot of homework to catch up on by now, but staying home with his great-great grandfather is worth it; Héctor needs him, not a doctor! They can take care of him on their own!

He has to voice his mind to his father, unable to look him in the eye.

"He doesn't need a doctor, right?" Miguel asks tentatively. "He just has a cough and a fever. It's just a normal cold."

"Yes,  _mijo,_  he does," Enrique says quietly in a whisper so 'Gael' doesn't wake. "It's not normal for someone as young as him to have a fever and fall to the floor like that."

They were going to call a doctor in the morning. Enrique had reasoned that it might not be a good idea to move 'Gael' too much, deciding to wait for the doctor to arrive to their home instead of taking him to the hospital, which was a bit far from where they live, anyway. A house call doctor that lives nearby is a better option, but Miguel still doesn't like the idea even idea even though Héctor won't be going to the hospital.

A cool cloth placed over his forehead by Luisa had helped to bring down the burning fever, but not by much; his temperature is still a bit higher than what the average was supposed to be.

Héctor shivers in his sleep on the bed, his body shaking uncontrollably. Miguel wishes they can do more but until Enrique calls the doctor in the morning, there isn't much else they can do to help except make sure that his fever stays reasonably low.

His identity is still a secret. Miguel figures that he can come up with another lie, but he can't think of anything that will distract his father from the photo and stop him from connecting the dots.

The silence is suffocating, but Miguel can't bring himself to speak until Enrique takes initiative.

"How do you  _really_  know this man?" He questions quietly, yet his voice is just the slightest bit stern.

Miguel has to stop his lower lip from trembling, even though he's sure his father can't see it very well in the dark.

"You wouldn't believe me..." is all he can say in response.  _Día de los Muertos_  was a time to celebrate their loved ones' lives. It was widely believed that they returned on the special night to celebrate with them, but Miguel had only thought it was one of those made-up things that parents tell their kids, just as he had thought the same about vitamins. No matter how strong their beliefs were, no one could possibly, truly  _believe_  that their loved ones actually came back to the Land of the Living for a night...could they?

If he told his father, he might as well just call him  _loco_  as Rosa had done when she'd first discovered who Héctor really was in the cemetery by Miguel saying his real name.

But this wasn't about him. If his family calls him crazy, then so be it. He has to at least try and find a way to help Héctor recover so his time as a living person won't be so awful. Based on what his father had said about his condition, it sounded like just a common cold, only a bit worse since Héctor was still getting used to being alive. It was his first time being sick since coming back to life, and his body was probably just getting used to it all.

Enrique lets out a quiet sigh, disappointed at his son's answer.  _"Mijo,_  you can tell me anything. You know that, right? Whatever it is, I'll listen. Just...please. No more secrets."

 _Secrets._  Unlike his love for music that he'd managed to keep under wraps for so long,  _this_  particular secret hadn't lasted very long at all. What was he expecting? To have his great-great grandfather walking around all year without anyone noticing? Hiding the photo may have prevented them from recognizing Héctor, but even that wouldn't have lasted long. Someone was bound to have recognized him sooner or later, even without the photo.

Miguel's heart breaks at the way his father's voice sounds, like Enrique is just as tired as Héctor. He's tired of his son keeping secrets, and Miguel is just as tired as him of keeping them. He hadn't told his family  _anything_  about the Land of the Dead since returning, for fear of what they might think.

But maybe it was time...for Héctor's sake.

How could he have possibly thought this secret was going to last an entire  _year?_

"Has he hurt you, and threatened you not to tell?" Enrique voices his worst fear. For all he knows, the man could have harmed his son in some way, and was forcing Miguel to keep quiet. But Miguel's eyes widen and he instantly shakes his head, much to Enrique's relief. Miguel would never lie to him about something like that...

"No," Miguel confirms aloud without faltering to show his father that he's not lying.

He braces himself, squeezing his eyes shut tightly; he can't bear to see the look on his Papá's face if he assumes that he's lying, or the unavoidable disbelief that would come along with it. Maybe afterwards, it would be okay. Maybe everything would just fall into place, and his family would even allow Héctor to stay with them for sure.

For now, it's just his Papá. The rest of the family can wait until they find a proper way of telling them the truth, or until Héctor is better and he can tell them himself. Miguel has to wonder if his grandfather thought it through very well—whether or not he should return the photo...but there was no going back now.

The words come forward.

"...He's my great-great grandfather..." Miguel whispers quietly and slowly so it can sink in for Enrique. When his father doesn't respond right away, Miguel gathers enough courage to peek open one eye. Enrique isn't staring at him, but down at the photo he still holds. His eyes seem normal, not widening. The silence continues, and Miguel's heart pounds just the slightest bit harder.

"He's Mamá Coco's Papá," Miguel says to try and bring forth at least  _some_  kind of response. But Enrique only stares blankly ahead at him, his eyes piercing through to his very soul.

"I almost turned into a skeleton and died last year."

This gets Enrique's full attention at last, and he stares more intently back at his son. He doesn't speak, waiting for Miguel to continue.

"After I ran away, I tried stealing de la Cruz's guitar, but...stealing on  _Día de los_   _Muertos_  is bad. It's always bad to steal, I mean, but on the holiday you can get cursed if you steal. You get sent to the Land of the Dead where the skeletons...live, and that's where I met Papa Héctor."

He takes a deep breath after mentioning Gael's real name.

It was official. There really was no going back, now...he couldn't stop. The weight on his chest lifts little by little with each word he speaks, the truth about the previous year spilling forward and the only heaviness being the silence that Enrique still carries—there truly would be no relief at all until his father says something,  _anything_  in response to his story, but until then he has to keep going.

"I didn't know he was my great-great grandfather at first, and neither did he. Mamá Imelda wouldn't even speak his name, so I had no clue she was talking about him whenever I tried bringing him up."

Miguel stops, but Enrique continues to remain silent. Miguel chooses to believe that he's either in shock or denial that his son had actually traveled to the Land of the Dead, and had met their deceased family members including Mamá Imelda, who sits at the top of the  _ofrenda._  Either that or he was waiting for him to finish; he hopes it's the latter.

"I needed a blessing from one of them to send me back here, but I refused to listen because they all hated music, especially Mamá Imelda. I needed a musician's blessing if I was ever going to return, so I had to get to de la Cruz because I thought he was my great-great grandfather, at first."

Miguel shudders. Now that he looks back, how could he have ever thought the two of them were related? Just because he'd seen the guitar in the photo? He realizes that when he'd first met Ernesto, the man had been confused about having a great-great grandson, though he'd just gone along with it and acted like Miguel truly  _was._  How far would he have continued to go, especially if he had found out they weren't truly related at all once he tried sending him home?

Miguel doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't even want to tell his Papá about how de la Cruz had thrown him into the sinkhole, or just how close he had actually come to turning into a full skeleton. He suddenly feels guilty somehow that while he had avoided his fate of dying in the Land of the Dead, Papa Héctor hadn't avoided his fate of coming back to life. It had happened too quick for him, and now he was stuck here in the Land of the Living with them until next year.

Miguel decides to avoid the parts that would only add on to his father's worry and disbelief, some things better left unsaid should he find them too unbelievable to be true at all.

"Long story short...I made it back to the Land of the Living on time because of Papa Héctor. He's not like what  _Abuelita_  said about him at all. You remember Mamá Coco's stories, right?" Miguel questions in an attempt to make his father say  _something,_  at least.

Enrique simply nods.

"Papa Héctor isn't a bad person. He may have left his family, but he tried to come home. De la Cruz didn't just steal his songs..."

Miguel stops, wondering if he should finish. It had been easy enough to prove that de la Cruz had stolen Héctor's songs through the letters, but another matter entirely to prove that he had committed murder, the only proof being that Héctor's letters had suddenly stopped.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his unsteady heart.

"De la Cruz  _murdered_  Papa Héctor for trying to go home. He murdered Héctor for his songs, and I know this because I was sent to the Land of the Dead. Then on this  _Día de los Muertos,_  de la Cruz stopped him from crossing the bridge back into the Land of the Dead, forcing him to stay in the Land of the Living. It was the opposite of what happened to me—instead of dying, he came back to life and now he's here with us. With his family."

Enrique shifts in his seat as if he's readying himself to reply at last, but is interrupted when Héctor groans. He can only watch in confusion as Miguel takes it upon himself to try and comfort his so-called great-great grandfather.

"Papa Héctor, it's okay," Miguel reassures him just as Héctor had done for him since finding out about Dante's fate. They seem to be reassuring each other a lot recently, but Miguel wouldn't have it any other way: they need each other, especially after all they'd gone through last year and now this year, as well.

"Hurts...so...much," Héctor groans again in his sleep, his brow furrowing in obvious pain. Enrique can only watch as his son soothes his apparent great-great grandfather, reassuring him that he's not 'dying again' from any poison. Based on what Miguel had told him about de la Cruz and Héctor coming back to life, the man was reliving his death through his fever.

"It's okay," Miguel repeats calmly, placing a hand on Héctor's. His grandfather flinches at the touch, but his body seems to relax if only a little. "It's not real," he tries to reassure.

But Héctor's shakes only seem to worsen, and his poor grandfather lets go of Miguel's hand to grip the bed sheets, then lifts them to grip his stomach.

"Need...to go back...please...let me...go," Héctor begins to beg.

Miguel's heart sinks at Héctor's words. Even in his fevered sleep, he must be dreaming of when Ernesto and his group of fans had stopped him from crossing the bridge.

"Don't...help..." Héctor pleads, and Enrique blinks in shock. Miguel shakes his head, though Héctor can't see him through closed eyes.

"I know it's hard, Papa Héctor," Miguel says gently. "But you can wait a year. We can wait a year...together."

Enrique isn't sure what he's hearing. The man doesn't want help...to get better? He wants to get worse, and then...? Enrique can't bring himself to finish the horrible thought. Whether 'Héctor' wants their help or not, he was  _going_  to get help. Enrique would not simply stand by and wait for his end to come. His conscience wouldn't allow it.

"You're okay, Papa Héctor," Miguel reassures again. "You didn't drink any poison. It was just water."

At last, Héctor's body seems to ease. His shakes lessen, and his hands lower from his stomach to rest wearily at his sides. Miguel glances at his father to see Enrique still attempting to process what he'd just heard and seen, but Miguel can tell just from his expression that he has no idea what to think—except that either his son is crazy, Héctor is crazy or they're  _both_  crazy, and maybe even he's crazy for trying to listen.

"He's not  _loco,_  Papá," Miguel says calmly as he can. "He wants to go back to the Land of the Dead, but he can't until next year. We have to let him stay!"

Still nothing from Enrique except gripping the photo in his hands a little tighter, but not so tight that he would risk ruining it.

"Papá, please," Miguel begs for a response.  _Any_  kind of response would do. "We can't let a doctor see him, because they might find out that he came back to life. He could be in trouble!"

Enrique still remains silent, and Miguel shrinks back in his seat. His father hadn't said a word all throughout his story or when he'd comforted Héctor about not being poisoned.

Miguel huffs, becoming ever more agitated by the silence. He can't take it anymore!

"The doctor can help Papa Héctor, but we can't show them the photo. Please," he says again desperately. If Enrique was as curious as he thought, then he would surely try and show the photo to the doctor to get a second opinion about why the two men were so similar to each other.

Enrique shakes his head, exasperated by everything Miguel had just told him. It was all another lie like his love for music that he had hid from them for so long. It  _had_  to be, and he wasn't happy at all when his son had promised not to lie anymore after coming home last year. Who knew what he was hiding in the attic, now?

A horrible realization crosses his mind, explaining why Miguel hadn't been as worried about the missing photo.

"You took the photo off the  _ofrenda._  Why?"

This was exactly what Miguel had been afraid of. Not only did his family think he was crazy now, but they just weren't ready to hear the truth about Papa Héctor.

"Because I didn't want anyone finding out that he came back from the dead. Not yet," Miguel answers, his voice surprisingly firm. "I wanted to wait until you were ready..."

He can see that his father is  _anything_  but ready, and his heart nearly stops at Enrique's next accusing words, sending a stab of hurt and anxiety shooting through him.

"I said no more lying."

It wasn't supposed to be like this...Héctor was supposed to be  _dead,_  but he had come back to life. The photo was supposed to stay hidden until his family was ready to hear the truth, but Héctor had given the photo back and they were  _anything_  but ready.

"But I'm not lying. It's the truth!" Miguel defends himself quickly. Maybe if Héctor was awake to back him up, this would be a lot easier. But he isn't, and so he's on his own for now.

"I'm going to talk to your mother about this, and see what she has to say about the matter," Enrique says, his voice no less stern. Miguel gulps, finding it best to get up from his seat. Enrique doesn't stop him, allowing him to leave the room to go to bed without another word.

Somewhere deep down, Enrique understands that Miguel is telling the truth. But for now, the truth is just too impossible to understand.

He calls a doctor to come and look at 'Papa Héctor' first thing in the morning.

xxxx

Héctor wakes to the feeling of fire shooting through his veins again, a feeling that he assumes he'll have to get used to eventually until his human body heals and pulls itself together, something he wishes would happen a lot faster than it is. His mouth is dry, and he can only guess that he's dehydrated once again and in need of water. His stomach is empty, yet he automatically feels the need to bring up whatever contents are left inside.

"How are you feeling?" Miguel's voice rings quietly in his ears. He blinks wearily, glancing in the direction towards the chair where his grandson sits.

"Like I just died again," Héctor chuckles lightly, making sure to cover his mouth when he starts coughing soon after.  _"Am_  I dying again?" He asks hopefully, yet with a hint of worry. He has no reason to be, but he doesn't want anything to happen, especially not in front of Miguel.

Miguel laughs. "No, you're just sick. You have a cold," he says, to which Héctor groans once again in response. His stomach tangles itself into knots, and he has to stop himself from releasing whatever is left inside. He can't remember what the last thing he ate was, but it's sure doing a number on him like he had once thought  _chorizo_  had done. For some reason, his nose feels wet, and he sniffs.

"What happened?" He asks. He can't seem to recall anything except giving the photo back to Miguel's Papá.

"You collapsed to the floor," Miguel answers, "Tío Berto and Papá moved you back in here and Papá...he called a doctor and she's going to come soon!"

"Don't worry, Miguel. I'm sure she won't be able to find out anything about me that would be a cause for concern," Héctor tries to reason.

"But what if she does?" Miguel questions back nervously.

Héctor can't exactly respond when his stomach twists and turns uncontrollably.

"I-I need to..." he barely manages to say, keeping a hand clamped over his mouth.

Miguel instantly pulls up a bucket, and Héctor dips his head inside to avoid making a mess on the bed. His stomach lurches, and he can't stop it when its contents spill forward into a gooey mess that makes him want to do the same thing all over again. Just  _what_  exactly was the human body made of, again? He'd forgotten just how... _gross_  it really was when it came to being sick.

"I guess your body is still getting used to being alive," Miguel suggests. Héctor nods weakly in agreement, settling back further into the bed though it isn't something he wants to do. He wants to get up and walk around; maybe it will help him feel better. But his muscles are sore again and he can barely move, his arms and legs limp as noodles. Maybe going up to the attic by himself without any help hadn't been the best idea...he's lucky he hadn't fallen and broken a bone—he's pretty sure that he can no longer will his bones to come back together after breaking apart. The human body was just so  _fragile,_  and now he's learning that the hard way...

"What if I get you sick, too?" He asks Miguel, worried for his grandson's health.

"Then I can just stay home from school longer," Miguel replies with a grin. Héctor can only shake his head. Miguel should be in school right now, but he's stuck here with him and he's not sure whether to feel upset or grateful about that. He supposes he should feel grateful. If Miguel was at school, he would be alone with his family and how awkward would that be? He decides to be grateful, especially since Miguel is doing his best to help him transition into his human body.

 _A year. This is only for a year,_  he has to tell himself to keep calm. His heartbeat manages to lessen from its rushing just a bit.

 _But what if stealing doesn't work?_  His mind echoes cruelly.

 _It will. It has to work,_  he just barely reassures himself. If stealing on the holiday won't work, he doesn't know what he'd do. It's nice to have some quality time with his living family, but he still knows he doesn't belong. This is not where he's supposed to be, and if they're not careful, others like the doctor will find out.

But he tells himself not to worry, just as he had said to Miguel. There was no possible way anyone could find out where he had  _really_  come from.

"I told Papá..."

He lifts his head up from the bucket in surprise, but stays silent while he waits for clarification.

"I told him about last year," Miguel continues. "About where I really went, how I met you...and who you  _really_  are since you showed him the photo." He can't stop the slight accusation crossing his tone. It's all his _grandfather's_  fault because he had been dumb enough to return the photo.

He's surprised that his father is even allowing him to sit with Héctor again.

"How did it go?" Héctor asks uneasily, though he has a feeling based on the way Miguel's gaze is lowered and his eyes are beginning to shine with tears. He suddenly wishes that he  _hadn't_ given the photo back.

"He didn't believe me! I don't know what to do!" Miguel reveals in a rush, as if to try and stop himself from getting too worked up.

"Hey,  _chamaco_ , it's okay," Héctor comforts to the best of his ability. "Let's focus on one thing at a time and get this appointment over with."

"You're right," Miguel sniffs, wiping his oncoming tears away with his arm.

A knock on the guest room door sounds. Miguel jumps slightly in his seat, and Héctor's heart begins to pound a bit quicker when a light-haired woman enters.

 _"Hola,_  Señor. I'm Dr. Mendez, and I will be checking to make sure you're alright this afternoon," she says politely. She wears a white lab coat with an odd-looking necklace that has a silver, circled end hanging down off of it. A...stethoscope that was used to check the heart, if he remembers right from his last visit with the doctor in his previous life so long ago. She carries a case as well, which must hold all the equipment she needs to take care of him.

Now that Héctor thinks about it, he had never really gotten sick when he had first been alive. His check-ins with doctors had been sparse, especially during his tour with Ernesto. If he  _did_ get sick, then Ernesto would just tell him to sleep it off and, ironically, drink lots of water...which usually worked. Who knew how far medicine and the equipment to take care of patients had advanced in the ninety or so years that he'd been dead?

Héctor shrinks back the tiniest bit, glancing worriedly toward Miguel. Would he have to leave?

"Can my gre-friend stay?" He'd almost said great-great grandson and Miguel knows it, frowning slightly in his direction. "He's a great friend, I mean."

Dr. Mendez hadn't seemed to notice. "Of course," she agrees, and Héctor manages to relax a little. If Miguel was able to stay with him, this appointment wouldn't be so bad.

"How have you been feeling, recently?" Dr. Mendez asks. Héctor knows he can't respond to her the same as he had to Miguel— _like I just died again._

So he does his best to be honest without giving anything away.

"Just tired..." he begins slowly. "And very sore. My stomach is queasy and it hurts, and I have a bad headache."

She takes note of the bucket sitting by the bed and nods, opening up her case. She pulls out a small machine that has wires connected to a bigger, black cuff that looks as if it can wrap around something. On instinct he sits up, and it must have been the right thing to do when she instructs him to lift out his arm.

"I'm going to take your blood pressure," she says to warn him of what's coming next. His muscles burn once again from just the smallest action of lifting, and it doesn't get any better when he finds he's correct and she wraps the black cuff around his arm.

The machine is activated. The cuff buzzes, then begins to tighten. It refuses to let up until Héctor assumes his arm is going to burst, and he has to stop himself from shrieking. But just when it seems the squeezing is at its worst, it suddenly stops and finally lessens. Héctor takes in a deep breath, trying to relax and failing miserably. No wonder Miguel had wanted to avoid having him see a doctor...all these tests about to happen, and they were sure to find out something about him they weren't supposed to.

"A little high, but nothing to be too concerned about," Dr. Mendez says calmly. "It's alright to be nervous."

She brings a small, white thermometer towards his mouth and he shrinks away the slightest bit. Dr. Mendez pauses a moment, and Héctor calms himself down enough to let her bring it closer until it's actually in his mouth, underneath his tongue.

Loud beeping, and she takes the thermometer out.

"It seems your fever is going down," she says, her expression satisfied enough.

 _But I still feel horrible,_  Héctor thinks wearily. He just wants to get better so he can get up from bed and do something...

"Listening to your heart," she lets him know as she takes the round, silver end of the stethoscope that connects to her ears to rest against his back. He's grateful that she's taking her time to tell him what she's doing  _before_  doing it.

"Deep breath in," Dr. Mendez instructs.

Héctor obeys, sucking in a deep breath of air no matter how much it makes his stomach lurch again.

"Breathe out," she finishes, nodding in approval. "Good." She moves the circled end around his back a few times, eventually reaching the front of his chest before putting it around her neck once more.

Another instrument is removed from her case, and she brings out yet another odd-shaped tool that brightens when she presses a button on it, lifting her fingers for him to focus on.

The light in his eyes nearly blinds him, but he keeps them open, anyway.

"Now for blood."

"Is that really necessary?" Miguel asks nervously. It's Héctor's turn to glare a bit at him as a warning not to ask too many questions that would raise suspicion as to why they're so hesitant seeing a doctor.

"Of course. We need to know his white cell count to make sure his body is able to fight off infections," Dr. Mendez explains.

Héctor can't really disagree when she pulls out a band, wrapping it around his arm that was just as tight as the blood pressure machine.

The sharp-ended needle she brings out next pokes into his skin, and he can't stop himself from jumping the slightest bit. If Dr. Mendez had noticed, she doesn't say anything.

The sharp pain doesn't get any better when she begins to dig the needle deeper, unable to find the right vein she needs because he had consumed little to no water. He clenches his teeth and tries his hardest not to look down, which would only make him bring up whatever was left in his stomach again.

But curiosity eventually wins over, and he's surprised when he doesn't feel the need to vomit.

Fascinated yet somewhat disturbed, Héctor watches in awe as red is sucked out of the spot where she had inserted the needle, traveling through the little tube and into the capsule.

 _So I do have blood now,_  Héctor thinks in an attempt to distract himself from fainting. He can't remember having such a reaction to blood when he had previously been alive, but it's just been so long that the sight of it now makes his stomach swirl.

"Señor Rivera tells me that you were found in the cemetery on the ground...were you with anyone?" Dr. Mendez asks. "Do you have any friends or family that we can call?"

"No...my parents passed, recently. It's why I was in the cemetery on _Día de Muertos._ I'm a bit of a loner," he says with a smile so she won't worry too much. Thanks to Rosa, he'd come up with an entire story about why he'd gotten kicked out of his home. But since Miguel had told Enrique the truth, it seemed that all his hard work was going to go to waste. He'd somewhat been looking forward to sharing his lie, if only to see how convincing he could really be.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Mendez says sincerely. She shuffles around her case, re-organizing what she'd taken out. "You're lucky the Riveras found you."

Héctor nods.  _You have no idea..._

He's not sure why Miguel and Rosa had been in the cemetery that morning, but things might not have gone so well if he  _hadn't_  been found by his family.

"So this is the second time you've fainted since being found?" She asks, just to be sure. It takes a moment for Héctor to come up with an explanation, but he remembers Miguel's excuse to his parents.

"No, this was the first time. I just fell asleep by accident in the cemetery when my friend played a lullaby for me..."

Dr. Mendez gives a small smile. "I'd love to hear it one day. You play the guitar, too?" She questions, nodding towards his guitar leaning on the stand as it usually does since he'd first arrived.

Miguel just barely shakes his head, but Héctor doesn't see any harm in it.

 _"Si,"_  he replies, though he still can't stop the uneasy feeling crawling across him.

"It's best that you stay in bed for awhile longer—no strenuous activities," she suggests.

 _Like climbing to the attic,_  Héctor thinks tiredly to himself. He was never going to do that again, at least not without Miguel's help. He sighs at her instruction to stay in bed—the last thing he wants to do. In bed, time crawls by so  _slowly..._ if he could get up and do  _something,_  the torture of time passing by slowly might not be as bad. But now with the doctor's orders to stay in bed, he has no choice but to listen.

She turns to face Enrique. Héctor hadn't noticed him by the doorway or how long he'd been there, but he's glad.

_He knows the truth now. He knows who I am._

But that doesn't mean Enrique  _believes_ it...

It explains why Miguel's father was staring at him in such a way that makes him want to curl up in a ball and be hidden from the world. Maybe giving back the photo hadn't been the best idea, after all...

"It seems to be a normal cold for now," Dr. Mendez says. "Rest and plenty of fluids should help get him back on his feet. Once he's feeling well enough to move, I would like him to come in and take a few X-rays to be sure there's no underlying cause for his stomach cramps. But if he continues to vomit or brings up blood, call emergency right away."

"Of course," Enrique agrees, clutching the photo in one hand. Try as he might, he hadn't been able to put it back where it belonged since Miguel had told him his story.

"I do have one question...has he eaten any garlic, recently?"

Enrique blinks, confused. "Not that I'm aware of," he answers, unsure of what she was looking for.

"Is there anything else?" She asks.

Enrique stiffens, his grip around the photo tightening more than the entire time he'd been holding it during the appointment.

Héctor and Miguel brace themselves. He was going to show her the photo, and then they really  _would_  be in trouble. She would want to take him to the hospital to do more tests until they somehow found out that he was supposed to be  _dead._

Enrique stares at Miguel from behind the doctor. He  _has_  to show her the photo. She would know what to do, and they would find out if he really  _is_  related.

If Miguel really  _isn't_  lying. He has to be sure...he has to  _know._

His hand lifts just the slightest bit, ready to give Dr. Mendez the photo...maybe she can help him make better sense of things.

But the way his son stares back at him, pleading with him, is something he can't ignore. He can't ignore how his bright, brown eyes are almost an exact match to the man's, and how similar some of their mannerisms are.

Héctor also can't ignore the way Miguel's father continues to stare at them with a look of confusion. Confusion at Miguel's story, and denial that it could hardly be true. But what hurts the most is that distrust is also there in the mix. He avoids eye contact, concentrating on the bucket so he won't make a mess when he feels the need to heave again.

But despite the distrust, Enrique's hand drops back to his side, keeping the photo out of Dr. Mendez's view.

Miguel smiles at his father gratefully, but Enrique only moves to show Dr. Mendez out of the guest room. He breathes a sigh of relief that at last, the doctor is gone. She hadn't found anything...yet.

"That wasn't so bad," Héctor says more to himself than his grandson. "Except for the needle."

"But she took some of your blood," Miguel reminds him.

Héctor finds that he just wants to go back to sleep and not worry about what any doctors might find from his blood. He's grateful in a way that a doctor had checked him over. He just has a cold, and all he needs to do is rest and drink more water.

As he sinks back into the bed, he can't get Enrique's look of disbelief and distrust out of his mind.

He doesn't believe his own son's story. What could he say to make it any better or more believable?

Giving back the photo hadn't resulted in what Héctor had hoped it would.

Enrique had lost what little trust he had in Héctor since Miguel had told him the truth, and he can't exactly blame him.

xxxx

He watches warily from the doorway, keeping himself out of sight the best he can. He'd wanted to try talking to the man, but every time he tried, his feet wouldn't allow him to get any closer out of fear of what more he would discover. Miguel's story, and the way he had calmed him down by telling him it was only water he had taken and not poison...it was a little too much to comprehend, and before they knew it, 'Héctor' was sound asleep again before Enrique could muster enough courage to try and talk.

Enrique certainly hadn't thought of telling anyone else like his Mamá, lest he wants them to think him just as crazy as Miguel.

A spike of guilt shoots through him. How could he ever call his own son  _loco?_

_I almost turned into a skeleton and died last year._

Miguel's story runs through his mind over and over, and he can't get it to stop. What did Miguel mean that he had almost  _died,_ let alone get turned into a  _skeleton?_  His son had already explained, but it had fallen on deaf ears once he'd said that this man now named 'Héctor' was his great-great grandfather.

It couldn't be possible. The dead don't... _can't_  come back to life. Miguel's explanation about how it had happened didn't make any sense, either.

"Maybe he's telling the truth," Luisa comes up behind him to rest a hand on his shoulder. Baby Socorro is sound asleep, as well as their son. "Miguel promised not to keep anymore secrets."

"But he kept  _this_  a secret from us," Enrique reminds her. "This man cannot be our Papa Héctor. It's impossible. He's... _gone."_

"Perhaps this man really  _is_  Papa Héctor," Luisa says calmly as she can. She's not sure what to make of Miguel's story either from what Enrique had told her, but she's willing to trust her son and what he has to say about the stranger. "We may think the stories of the dead returning on  _Día de los Muertos_  were only make-believe," Luisa reasons, "but where did Miguel  _really_  go last year? He never exactly told us the truth, and we never pushed."

Enrique realizes that she has a point. Since returning from running away, Miguel had kept quiet about just  _where_  exactly he had gone, trying to distract them with Mamá Coco's stories.

"We can't just send him out on the streets. Especially not after all we've done for him so far. Especially not if he really  _is_  family."

Enrique takes his wife's words under careful consideration, but then sighs.

"If he really is Papa Héctor, how do we send him back? This has never happened before. It's not...natural. It's not right."

"Think about it...this would explain why he's so sick. He is getting used to the process of being alive again. Maybe Miguel is right...a doctor wasn't a good idea if Héctor really  _did_  come from the Land of the Dead."

She's right. She's always right.

Miguel would never lie about something like this. Why didn't he have more trust in his own son?

Luisa heads off to bed, leaving him alone in the doorway to collect his thoughts.

He can't look away from the man laying in bed, unable to bring himself to follow his wife.

Miguel's story can't be true...it just  _can't!_  Enrique refuses to believe...

Until 'Gael' says two names that make Enrique's heart skip a beat—names that make him fully realize his son had been telling the truth. The man could have overheard them talking the night before, hearing their names. But somehow he feels that isn't the case...that this man really  _had_  come back from the dead, and maybe he really  _is_ a part of their family.

"Imelda...Coco..." Héctor whispers mournfully in his sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

"Feeling better?" Miguel asks hopefully as Héctor finishes a glass of water, more willingly than he had before. The water runs down his throat, not as dry and sore. The anxiety of the water somehow being poison has gradually faded away, allowing him to become properly hydrated.

"Not like you're dying again?" Miguel adds, more teasing than anything.

"Actually...I feel a _lot_  better," Héctor says truthfully with a small smile.

It was indeed true. After a day or two of feeling like dying, he was finally starting to feel... _better._  Like his muscles aren't as sore, his stomach doesn't hurt as much, and he can start moving around a little more without wearing himself out. The bucket still sits next to the bed, but he hasn't thrown up again much to his relief, and he hopes it stays that way. He was even able to keep his breakfast down that Miguel had brought in earlier, and he found himself beginning to enjoy real food for the first time—not just the spirit copies of food that he had grown so accustomed to after just one holiday in the Land of the Dead. His fever is even gone, his head no longer burning and his body free from chills.

Miguel suggested that maybe part of the reason he'd gotten so sick—especially due to his stomach cramps—was because he'd had so much anxiety over drinking water, mistaking it to be poison in his fevered state. It was a perfectly plausible explanation to Héctor, having faced a similar situation soon after he'd died—phantom pains that had made his nonexistent stomach twist and turn from poison that wasn't even real; maybe his living body was just having a difficult time putting together the fact that he was no longer dead.

But for the first time since waking up in the Land of the Living, he feels just the slightest bit more comfortable in his human body. The doctor's order of staying in bed had done wonders, no matter how much he had wanted to break the rules and get up. But he knows he can't get used to it; this is only for a year. The longest year he would ever face in his new life. He's not sure how much time has passed since Ernesto and his fans had kept him from crossing the bridge, but he's not sure if he wants to know. That certain length of time might make it seem like time itself was moving even  _more_  slowly, so he doesn't dare ask Miguel how long it had been since he was found in the cemetery.

"Maybe we can go for a walk later," Miguel suggests. "You've been in bed too long."

Héctor lets out a mild laugh; it's as though Miguel read his mind. "I agree. I want to get up and do something."

Time would no longer crawl by so slowly, but they would have to be careful as Miguel had told him when they first went to the cemetery. His grandson had proved that Ernesto's songs were really  _his_  through his letters to Coco, and he'd used the mended picture of himself with his wife and daughter to prove it, as well. Just like they'd previously been careful around their own family, Miguel isn't sure if anyone outside would put two and two together. The only person aside from their family who had met Héctor was the doctor that thankfully hadn't recognized him, and they should probably keep it that way.

"I was thinking...maybe we could look for Dante," Miguel whispers cautiously. He doesn't want to upset Héctor, but he has to throw the idea out there. His grandfather had been just as upset as him when he'd revealed the dog's fate, but they have to at least  _try._ Dante could be anywhere and they had to start looking  _somewhere,_ especially if he had gotten stuck in the Land of the Living along with Héctor.

"Good idea,  _chamaco,"_  Héctor agrees softly. Miguel's worry of upsetting him dissipates; it would be a good first thing for them to do now that Héctor isn't as sick as he was before. "He did his best to try and save me. We can't give up on him so easily," Héctor resolves himself. The pain of seeing Dante fade had nearly been too much, keeping it a secret from Miguel for as long as he could.

But secrets were a pain, and Héctor knows it all too well. They never solved anything, only creating more problems...especially when it came to Miguel's parents.

Enrique and Luisa still haven't tried talking to him yet—or any of the other Riveras, for that matter.

"How are things going with your Papá?" Héctor asks Miguel hesitantly, and the boy looks up at him with sad brown eyes.

"He's quiet. He's not ignoring me, but...he won't really talk to me," Miguel answers glumly.

Héctor frowns, suddenly feeling the urge to smack some sense into Enrique. Miguel hadn't been truthful about his identity, but that didn't mean he could give his own son the silent treatment.

 _It's understandable,_  Héctor has to tell himself. Miguel's Papá was probably still wrapping his head around the idea of Miguel's seemingly impossible story that his great-great grandfather was actually here in the flesh. They haven't even come into the guest room for quite some time now, leaving it up to Miguel to handle his food and other needs. If an emergency popped up like more vomit, Miguel would have had to get them and they would call emergency. But for now and hopefully the remainder of his time, Héctor really  _does_  feel better.

"I know what might help even more," Miguel speaks up again, nodding towards the bathroom. "No offense, Papa Héctor...but you kind of stink."

Héctor's eyes go wide, his face flushing—and most likely  _blushing_ —in embarrassment. Skeletons didn't blush but  _humans_  did, and Miguel noticing only made his embarrassment worse.

"None taken, I guess..?" He says in an attempt to get rid of the embarrassment.

"Don't worry! I know you haven't been able to get up, so you couldn't take a shower or anything like that. You don't smell that bad actually, but you need to get cleaned up." Miguel nods towards the bathroom again, and Héctor's stomach sinks at the thought of taking a bath and getting wet, something he had never been able to do as a skeleton. Then again it had never been much of a necessity to him, especially compared to other skeletons.

Now that he's not as sick, he finds that it's much easier to stand on two legs. His heavy human skin still makes it difficult to put one foot in front of the other, but the more he concentrates on actually  _moving_  and not on the heaviness, his body feels just the slightest bit lighter. He manages to make it to the bathroom without falling once, much to his relief. He stands by the sink while Miguel turns the water in the tub on, putting his hand underneath the running water to check its temperature.

"You can just lay down. It might be a better idea than standing," Miguel says thoughtfully, cringing at the idea of Héctor slipping by accident.

While he was finally getting used to walking, he agrees with Miguel that standing in one place for an extended period of time might be too much, especially if he would risk falling; he doesn't want to have to deal with a head injury while he's alive.

"A towel is right here so you can dry off when you're done," Miguel says, pointing towards the towel resting on the floor so it would be easy for Héctor to pick up.

"You can put your clothes on the counter so they won't get wet," Miguel says.

Once he's gone and he had undressed, Héctor sinks slowly into the water. Warm...but not too warm so it would burn his skin.

Just right.

He allows the water to envelop his sensitive human skin, now maybe not as sensitive as it was before. Miguel had taken great consideration of what the water's temperature should be, and he appreciates it. His muscles relax and he takes deep breaths to further calm himself.

Taking a nice, relaxing bath was another moment he could add to his 'positive things about coming back to life' mental list. Water was available in the Land of the Dead such as the sinkhole Ernesto had tossed him and Miguel into, but skeletons didn't necessarily need to bathe themselves. They couldn't actually drink, but they could use the water to wash their clothes if they wanted. Other than that, the dead really didn't have a use for water like cooking or plumbing, since there were no restrooms.

He pushes the Land of the Dead to the back of his mind the best that he is able, though his heart makes it harder. He can't just stop thinking about his home and family, but thinking only makes it worse so he has to try and distract himself with something else.

A warm, relaxing bath was the perfect thing to do just that.

xxxx

Miguel stands with his great-great grandfather in the  _ofrenda_  room, now dressed and cleaner than he had been, much to Miguel's delight. The next time Héctor meets his parents, he'll make a second, even better first impression.

"He still hasn't put the photo back," Héctor says sadly, staring at the blank space on top of the  _ofrenda_  and wondering just when exactly Enrique would put the photo back where it belongs.

"Don't worry. He will soon. He has to," Miguel tries to reassure him, though Héctor isn't sure if it's working. His anxiety returns from when Miguel had first hid the photo. Though he trusts his family to keep the photo safe, he wants to see it with his own two eyes—to know for  _sure_  that nothing had happened to it like falling to the floor in the attic.

He stares at the other photos of his deceased family instead—the photos that contain Oscar, Felipe, Rosita and Victoria and Papá Julio. He wonders what they're doing right now in the Land of the Dead, and if they're still trying to find a way to bring him back.

He can only hope, forced to appreciate his time with Miguel and their living family for the time being. Though with the way things are going, maybe he's  _not_  being as forced to appreciate coming back to life. He reminds himself that it wasn't a curse that brought him here, but a  _blessing_  even if it had been Ernesto's fault in the first place.

It was a blessing, and that's why  _Miguel's_  blessing hadn't worked to send him back.

He suddenly feels something tugging at his shirt, and glances down to see Miguel looking in the direction behind them.

"Um...Papa Héctor," Miguel says his name quietly, and Héctor turns around to face his parents who had just come in; he's glad that he'd taken Miguel's advice to clean himself up.

 _"Hola,"_  Héctor says uneasily, realizing that Miguel had said his  _real_  name in front of them. He was no longer Gael García, but  _Héctor._  Just Héctor for now, until he could earn their belief that he was Miguel's great-great grandfather who had come back from the dead.

 _"Hola..._ Héctor," Enrique says slowly, very unsure of himself. "If that's your real name." He's not going to call him 'Papa' yet until they clear this up.

 _Keep it together,_  Héctor tells himself sternly.  _Don't mess this up._

Just the slightest mistake, and they would assume that he's lying. That Miguel had made up his whole story about the Land of the Dead to cover up something else suspicious about him that wasn't true, and then they really  _would_  kick him out or send him away, maybe even call the police.

Enrique doesn't say a word to Miguel as his grandson had sorrowfully explained, leaving it up to Luisa to nod towards her son. Miguel nods in return, understanding that he has to leave so the three of them can sort this out on their own without any influence from him.

Hesitantly, Miguel leaves the  _ofrenda_  room and shuts the door behind him. He's tempted to try and eavesdrop, but he doesn't want to risk upsetting his parents any further if they found him by the door, especially not his father. So he goes to his own room instead, unable to fall asleep until someone would come in and tell him that everything went well...maybe well enough that his parents would believe them and Héctor would even be allowed to stay for the rest of the year.

Héctor's heart pounds harder when he realizes that he's on his own in the  _ofrenda_  room with Miguel's parents.

 _How am I going to do this?_  He whines inwardly to himself, wishing that Miguel could come back.  _I can't do it. I can't talk to them._

But he can't just literally  _run_  away from his problems. It might be a little easier for him to walk, but  _running_  was another matter entirely. He wouldn't make it very far, so he has no choice but to stay and talk.

Surprisingly, Enrique breaks the silence first.

"I see you're feeling better," he says in an attempt to make conversation.

 _"Si,"_  Héctor admits. "I'm feeling a lot better. I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me, even if you didn't know who I really was at first."

"And who  _are_  you, exactly?" Enrique questions, his voice stern yet gentle so he won't scare the man off.

"We've seen the photo and how you and our Héctor are so much alike," Luisa says so softly that he almost can't hear. "But you both can't be the same person...our Héctor is long gone. He left our family a long time ago and we don't know what happened to him, but...he's surely gone."

"I'm not...I'm not Gael García," Héctor says truthfully. It was now or never, and there was no going back once he began. He wonders if this was how Miguel had felt when he'd told his side of the story to Enrique, and feels a sharp stab of guilt that he hadn't been awake then to help his father see sense that their story was true, no matter how unbelievable it seemed. He hopes that when this is all over, Enrique will be able to make amends with Miguel.

He has to keep going...for Miguel's sake.

"I'm Héctor Rivera...the same person in the photo. It's true."

Enrique and Luisa remain silent, waiting for him to continue. Héctor isn't exactly sure what he could say next, but an idea sparks in his mind that maybe he doesn't have to say anything at all.

Even though he's not with them, he can  _feel_  them. He can feel his deceased family guiding him, beckoning him back towards the  _ofrenda_  so he can show Miguel's parents what he knows, starting from the bottom to name the faces he recognizes.

"Oscar and Felipe, the twins," he starts slowly, "they can be quite the chatterboxes, but I've grown used to them talking at the same time over the course of the year that I was with them."

He smiles when he reaches Papá Julio's photo next.

"I haven't really gotten a chance to talk to him that much yet," he says calmly, glancing towards Enrique and Luisa every now and then. "But I know he was a wonderful husband to Coco. He was the love of her life and I'm happy that she found someone like him."

While he had been separated from his family in the Land of the Dead and Imelda didn't even allow him to see her, he had hoped that Coco had lived her life to the fullest—getting married and having her own children. He'd missed out on walking her down the aisle, but he'd always imagined just how happy and wonderful it must have been.

"Victoria is a bit stern, but just on the outside. She's actually really nice once you get to know her and not as scary," Héctor chuckles.

"Rosita is really bubbly and nice," he says fondly, though he quickly realizes he's running out of things to say. "She was one of the first to help me feel comfortable as I adjusted to being welcomed back into the family."

Since reuniting with his family in the Land of the Dead, he'd gotten to know more about them than he'd ever had the chance to before, but in a way...they were still strangers. He feels guilty he'd put them on the sidelines, giving most of his attention to Imelda and Coco. If they noticed, they never said anything, content to let him catch up with his girls that he had missed the most.

Now he misses all of them equally, wishing he had taken the time to get to know each of them better. He thought he would have more time after his first holiday with them...but Ernesto had taken it all away, and Héctor realizes that  _no,_  time had never truly been on his side. Every moment spent with all of his family was a time to be cherished, never knowing when it could be ripped away.

Enrique's unexpected voice interrupts. "Welcomed back...?"

Héctor's heart pounds harder when he reaches the blank space on the top—the space where  _his_  photo is supposed to be.

"My wife Imelda, and my daughter Coco..." he begins. He has to place a hand over his chest to calm his now-racing heart that rushes in his sensitive ears.

He desperately wishes he was with all of his family  _now_  where he was supposed to be: in the Land of the Dead. But he's not, and until then he has to make things right with Miguel's parents, doing his best to continue his story.

"I wish I had never left them to play music. I loved them with all my heart, and one of the only reasons I played music was to make sure that we had a roof over our heads and that I could support them."

He lets out a brief, nervous sigh as his story begins to merge with part of Miguel's unbelievable one.

"I thought it was my dream to play music for the world like my friend Ernesto, but...my dream was just to go back home and be with them. I wanted to go back home...I tried, but on the night I was about to leave Ernesto...he poisoned me."

He thinks he can hear a small gasp, but he's not sure who it had come from. Possibly Enrique, since Miguel had told him almost everything—including how he'd been poisoned by his 'best friend.'

"I woke up dead," he tells them exactly as he had told Miguel the previous year as he had recounted his death in front of Ernesto. "My photo was never placed on the _ofrenda,_  so I couldn't cross over the bridge on _Día de Muertos._  I tried and failed every year, because a photo is required for the dead to cross. But that all changed because of Miguel..."

 _"But you can change that!"_  Héctor remembers telling Miguel as he had explained what needed to be done if he ever wanted to get across the bridge. Little had he known just  _how_  much Miguel would change, and for the better.

He wonders if he should continue onward, if Miguel had told Enrique enough about this certain part of the story.

"I needed a photo that I had of myself to be put up on this _ofrenda,"_  he continues slowly, "and Miguel needed a musician's blessing if he wanted to get back home on time without any conditions from his family. I didn't know he was my great-great grandson at first, but I wasn't going to let anything happen to him—especially when we found out what Ernesto had done to me.

"Miguel needed to be back home before sunrise, or else he would have been turned into a skeleton like us. Thankfully we got him home on time." Héctor smiles to himself at the memory of Miguel being sent back just before the sun had risen, though his parents don't need to know just how  _close_  their son had been to passing on, or how close he himself had been to the Final Death.

"Then this year on  _Día de_ _Muertos,_ Ernesto stopped me from crossing the bridge. Unexpected things can happen to skeletons if we stay here after sunrise, and I guess coming back to life was one of them."

"Our Héctor was also a  _músico_  who left his family," Enrique says, a flutter of belief beginning to sweep through him, but only barely. He still can't hold back his skepticism. "We thought he abandoned them, but..."

"I tried so hard to go home," Héctor whispers, "but then Ernesto..."

Well, he had already told them what Ernesto had done. Stealing a glance at Enrique and Luisa still listening cautiously, he can tell that they still don't believe him yet.

For all they know, Miguel could have told him all these things about their relatives from what he already knew about them, and maybe what he had 'made up' about his adventure in the Land of the Dead. He had to tell them something that only he would know...that only  _they_  would know, and not something that Miguel could have told him.

He needs to tell them something that only  _he_  would know about one of their deceased relatives, and his daughter is the first to come to mind.

He turns to Luisa. She doesn't react at first, though he can tell she's trying to hold back her shock that he's speaking directly to her. Taking a deep breath, he begins a story that Coco had told him before he'd gotten stuck here in the Land of the Living.

"It was our song... _Remember Me,"_  he begins, and Luisa's eyes grow just the slightest bit wider. "The song that Miguel played to help her remember. You must have heard her sing it quietly to herself before her mind began to fade, because you remembered some of the lyrics, even if they weren't perfect. When she had trouble going to sleep, you would sing it to her even if music wasn't allowed in the house yet."

And when Miguel had played,  _really_  played the song for the first time in ages and had sung the correct lyrics along with the right melody, she had fully regained her memory of her Papá. Luisa had to be part of the reason that Coco had remembered him, if only a little, for so long. He feels bad when Luisa's eyes begin to water at the corners, and she lifts a hand to her mouth in surprise, but also warmth that she had done such a thing for his little girl when she would have been at risk of one of her family members hearing, especially Elena.

Enrique turns to face his wife, flabbergasted at the idea that she used to  _sing_  at a time when music had been banned, and quietly enough that she hadn't been caught by Elena.

"Is this true?" He questions incredulously, hardly believing his ears and eyes when she makes the slightest hint of a nod in his direction.

 _"Si._ And I never told Miguel...not yet. I never told  _anyone."_

"Coco said you had the most beautiful voice," Héctor says, not meaning to kiss up or exaggerate to try and get even more approval from them. It was the truth, exactly as Coco had told him. "Like an angel. She would have wanted me to tell you  _gracias_  for her, I think," Héctor finishes.

The water at the corner of Luisa's eyes begin to slide down her cheeks. Enrique wraps an arm around her, squeezing gently. Luisa reaches up a hand to take his, and a soft smile emerges through her tears that Héctor returns just as gently.

Enrique reaches his other arm down towards his pocket, and Héctor's own eyes widen when he pulls out a certain photo that had been missing from their  _ofrenda._  Without saying a word he stretches his hand closer to him, and Héctor has to stop himself from taking a nervous step back.

"Welcome to the family, Papa Héctor," Enrique says sincerely. Héctor's eyes seem to widen even more, but he manages to relax himself enough to reach his hand towards Enrique's.

"I think you should be the one to put the photo back up," he says, bringing it closer to Héctor. "It's clear to me now that you two really are the same person, and I should have believed my son from the start."

He really _should_  have. Miguel and Héctor's stories lined up much too perfectly for them to have made it up on the go. It could only mean that they were  _both_  being honest, that their adventure in the Land of the Dead really  _had_  happened.

Héctor takes hold of the photo and Enrique lets go, allowing him to turn back around to face the  _ofrenda._  He stares down at his girls in the photo, his eyes mimicking Luisa's and tears coming forth uncontrollably.

Hand trembling as he lifts it towards the  _ofrenda,_  Héctor wishes that Miguel was here now to witness the special occasion...though maybe it could be a surprise for later that he'd finally gained the trust of his parents, that they believed who he  _really_  was.

His human heart thuds with warmth more than it ever had as he places the photo back where it truly belongs.

xxxx

Enrique runs a hand down his face. It was all beginning to make sense...Rosa rushing to them saying that they'd found a man in the cemetery...Miguel explaining— _l_ _ying_ —about a lullaby that had made him fall asleep so they wouldn't get a doctor, and then Rosa bringing up the 'school project' so he would be allowed to stay...

He finds himself in Miguel's room, and his son is apparently asleep. But Enrique knows better...

"What you have said about this man is true? No lying?" He asks the silent air. But without turning around, Miguel says only one word so firmly that Enrique knows he can't be lying.

 _"Si,"_  Miguel says so firmly that Enrique knows he's telling the truth. His son hadn't lied, and that's what matters most. Miguel had been telling the truth the entire time, and Enrique scolds himself for not seeing it sooner; that the man really  _is_  related. He suddenly feels guilty for not listening to his son about getting a doctor. If anything was found out about Héctor that wasn't supposed to be—like coming back to  _life_ —it would be on his shoulders because he had been too stubborn to let go for once and  _believe._

Enrique sighs, guilt that he hadn't believed his son traveling swiftly through him. "Then if he really is our Papa Héctor...we can't exactly turn him away, can we?"

Miguel finally moves to turn in Enrique's direction, his eyes shining brightly in the dark with hope.

"So...he can stay? He can stay for sure?" Miguel questions slowly, not believing his ears.

Enrique nods. "We'll have to introduce him to the rest of his living family properly soon, won't we?" He says, making sure to add the word 'living' on purpose so Miguel can see that he understands now. He understands that 'Gael' really  _is_  their Papa Héctor, and that he really  _had_  come from the Land of the Dead, coming back to life in the most unexpected way.

Without warning, Miguel leaps up from his bed, crashing into Enrique and wrapping his arms so tightly around his father that he almost loses his breath.

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you,  _mijo,"_  Enrique apologizes. "I said I would listen, but I didn't and I'm so sorry."

Miguel shakes his head in his father's embrace. No apology was needed; he was just glad that his story is now believed.

That Héctor can really, truly  _stay_  with his living family without having to hide who he really was anymore. From this point on, things were definitely going to be a lot easier for the two of them—for  _all_  of them once everyone knows the truth.

Miguel simply hugs his Papá even tighter.

"Gracias, gracias, _gracias!"_

xxxx

He wants to keep his father's approval a surprise until later as they walk through Santa Cecilia the next day like Miguel had suggested would be a good idea for Héctor, making sure to keep a low profile should anyone recognize him from the photo that Miguel had used to prove Ernesto's guitar was actually  _his._

All the while, Miguel keeps his eyes peeled for a certain  _alebrije_  that he knows has to be around here somewhere, especially if he had gotten stuck in the Land of the Living with Héctor.

But  _where...?_

Héctor suggested that posters might be helpful, until Miguel points out that they don't even have a photo of poor Dante. He was a stray in his family's eyes, and he didn't want to bother his parents with anything more—especially not after everything they had already revealed.

They would have to find Dante on their own, besides maybe asking someone if they had seen a gray  _Xolo_  dog anywhere. So far, no one had mentioned anything and Miguel's spirits were becoming lower by the minute.

"I know it hurts, Miguel, but please...try not to get your hopes up too high," Héctor says honestly. Dante may not have faded exactly like Ernesto so there was a chance of him still being alive, but there was still a chance that he just...hadn't made it. Who knew where the poor _alebrije_  had gone? Maybe it was like the Final Death and he was just _...gone..._ but Héctor tells himself not to think like that. Like he had told Miguel before, they can't give up on the spirit guide so easily.

"I know," Miguel repeats the single word in a whisper, "but we have to  _try."_

"We'll look as long as we have to," Héctor agrees. "Maybe that  _perro_  is just hiding somewhere we can't see."

If they came up empty today, then they would look tomorrow and the next day for a reasonable amount of time, and Héctor decides that he'll let  _Miguel_  decide when that time would be if Dante was unfortunately never found; he just can't bring himself to be the one to say they would have to stop looking.

A crashing sound startles the two of them to look up at almost the same time to see the unexpected sight of a young child barrelling straight towards them, trash cans rolling this way and that from the back of a nearby restaurant.

"Get back here, you little  _mocoso!"_  The voice of a man suddenly shouts at the child, about to go after him with a broom. He halts when he notices that the child is running not on two legs, but... _four?_  Shaking his head in exasperation, the man turns to go back inside.

Héctor is unprepared to be knocked down by the kid himself, groaning loudly as his spine screams at the sudden contact with the ground. He takes it back—he is still  _far_  from comfortable in his human body, especially when it comes to falling.

 _Ouch,_  his muscles burn. He can only hope that this fall won't affect his entire body, and he won't be restrained to staying in bed again.

"Whoa, easy, kid. What's gotten into you?" He asks, his tone pained yet playful. Miguel backs away a bit, his head tilting to the side in momentary confusion at their new 'friend.' But he takes a step forward again, holding out a hand for Héctor to grab so he can stand back up. He gives an awkward smile to Miguel so his grandson knows that he's alright, and Miguel only shrugs, glancing back down at the kid and waiting for him to answer Héctor's question.

The child doesn't respond, simply yet eagerly wrapping both arms around Héctor's stomach once he's on two feet, burying his face into his shirt. Héctor realizes that he's whimpering instead of saying anything, but doesn't push him to speak yet. The child releases his hold, bending down until he's standing on all fours without a care of getting dirty. Héctor blinks in confusion, only continuing to stare and at a loss for words on the strange way he was acting.

The child looks up at him with a dirt-smeared face and wide brown eyes with dark hair, his behind wiggling back and forth as if he had an invisible tail and tongue hanging out, panting in excitement.

Wait...a tail...the dog-like way he's wiggling the invisible appendage back and forth...

Was that a gray streak in his hair?

 _"What happens if we stay out after sunrise?"_  Héctor recalls himself asking before the unthinkable had happened—before Ernesto had ambushed him and forced him to stay in the Land of the Living.

_"No one knows for sure," Rosita had explained with an uneasy shrug. "It's kind of a spontaneous, unpredictable thing. One thing could happen to one person, and another thing could happen to another person."_

_"There was once a rumor about being turned into_ alebrijes," _Felipe added in._

 _Oscar shook his head at his brother's crazy idea, and Pepita snorted as the cat walked faithfully besides Imelda. Dante barked twice as if in **agreement**_   _and leapt over the entrance to the Land of the Dead._

It wasn't possible. It  _couldn't_  be possible! Then again, it wasn't possible to come back to life, yet here he was in the flesh.

Had their loyal  _alebrije_  once been a skeleton—a  _child_  skeleton at that—getting stuck on the other side on a past  _Día de los Muertos?_  Had the spirit guide been transformed from a skeleton into an  _alebrije,_  just like Felipe had suggested to be amongst the possibilities of what could happen after sunrise?

And because he had once been a skeleton, had he been transformed  _back_  into his human form after Ernesto kicked him into the Land of the Living?

Héctor can't believe it and his brain hurts at just trying to figure out what had happened to the poor thing, but he and Miguel seem to have found their lost spirit guide a lot sooner than he thought they would in this child that was acting so strangely.

Acting...just like a dog. A dog that they  _know._  A dog that could only be...

Miguel says it for him, his voice just as shocked and astounded.

"Dante?!"


	9. Chapter 9

_This chapter was so fun and awkward to write at the same time...xD_

xxxx

"Frida did say  _alebrijes_  can take many forms," Miguel says uncertainly as he watches the strange boy that hasn't yet let up acting just like a certain someone they know.

 _Dante,_  his best friend's name runs through his mind. It can't be...

 _"They are mysterious as they are powerful,"_  he can remember Frida saying when Dante had broken into the rehearsal area. The dog seemed to be more on the mysterious side, but she had been so nice to them even after he'd caused a mess, suggesting that he might be an  _alebrije._  Of course Miguel hadn't believed it at first, but then after he and Héctor had realized they were family, Dante had transformed from a normal  _Xolo_  dog into a real  _alebrije._

Héctor only continues to stare in shock at the child before them, though they had managed to move to a more secluded alleyway so no one else would see the strange-behaving human. He has to lean back against the sturdy wall to support himself, bringing a hand to his forehead as if to try and slow his racing thoughts. He and Dante haven't seen each other since that fateful day, not since the dog had faded before his very eyes. He'd  _faded..._ didn't that mean he should be invisible at least, and not stuck in the body of a human just as he was currently stuck in his living body?

"Dante...is it really you?" He has to ask. He has to be sure that this isn't some cruel dream or figment of his imagination—that Dante had made it on that morning when everything had fallen apart.

The child's tongue hangs out further it seems, and he tilts his head to the side as if trying to understand Héctor's words. He grunts instead, turning his attention onto his invisible tail. He snaps, trying in vain to chase something that wasn't there anymore. Plopping back onto the dirt, 'Dante' lifts his head up and continues to wag his invisible tail.

Relief overtakes Héctor's uncertainty, and he bends down so their eyes can meet.

"But...you faded. I thought you were  _gone._  I'm so glad you're okay," he laughs, taking note of his child form once again. Dante 'barks' in his human voice much to Miguel's surprise, causing him to jump and Héctor reaches out a hand, but stops himself.

 _Well, this is awkward..._ he thinks. Dante is no longer a dog, so he can't exactly pet him. But Dante doesn't seem to mind the familiar gesture, leaning his head forward until Héctor's hand is resting on top. The dog-turned-human closes his eyes and whimpers, his little body trembling.

Héctor suddenly realizes what Dante is trying to say. They hadn't seen each other all this time, and he had thought the worst. That Dante was  _gone_ with no way to come back. He might not be himself, but the former dog is alive and well and that's what truly matters.

"I...I missed you too,  _amigo,"_  Héctor says fondly, bending down further so Dante can crawl into his lap and sit down. "I was so worried about you."

Dante nods his head up and down as if in agreement that he'd missed Héctor all this time, too. They had both been worried for each other, and for good reason after they had been separated upon sunrise.

The dog-boy sniffs Héctor's hand, inspecting the new skin covering his bones. He glances up at the former skeleton in confusion, tilting his head to the side.

" _Si, amigo._  I'm alive again," he confirms, reluctantly reaching forward to ruffle the child's gray-streaked hair, the only sign that he had once been a dog.

Even if Dante wasn't exactly himself, he was still  _Dante._  And maybe this is who he had truly been all along, hiding underneath the form of a hairless  _Xolo_  dog that had more of a past than they thought.

"He can't be a human! How did this happen?" Miguel asks, gathering enough courage to step closer to the child that was now apparently Dante. This was all wrong, just like Héctor coming back to life. He was supposed to be a dog, not a human kid!

"He was stuck here with me, so sunrise must have affected him as well...just in a different way," Héctor thinks aloud, more to himself than Miguel.

"And definitely unpredictable. Were you a human before a dog, Dante?" Miguel asks the child, not expecting a response; it doesn't seem like he can talk yet. The human-dog stares up at Miguel from Héctor's lap, his tongue hanging out again and eyes shining. He lets out another bark in his young and innocent child voice as if in response.

"I'll take that as a yes," Miguel says in ever-more confusion, though it's beginning to make a little more sense. If Dante had once been a human, then that must mean he had been alive at one point. When he had gotten stuck in the Land of the Living as a child after sunrise just like Héctor, he had been brought back to life...but as a spirit guide. Miguel makes a mental note to himself that when his time comes, he'll be extra careful not to get stuck in the living world. The possibilities of what could happen were endless!

"Maybe he just has to wait until next year like I do to change back," Héctor says thoughtfully, but it doesn't seem... _right_  to suggest such a thing now that they know Dante is just an innocent, human child. There has to be more to his story...

The new and unavoidable question burns at the back of Miguel's mind, until he has no choice but to let it out in the open no matter how bittersweet it is.

"He's so young and little..." Miguel says slowly, taking in the sight of the small boy. He seemed to be around the age of Benny and Manny; it was a wonder how he even managed to knock Héctor to the ground. But in his excitement at seeing Héctor himself after being gone for so long, Miguel wouldn't put it past the boy to suddenly have strength he didn't know he had. "Do you think he has...or had a family?"

Héctor stares down at Dante, eyes widening slightly at the idea. It makes sense; if he was once truly a human, then he must have had a family at some point.

"Well...if he was able to cross the bridge to get stuck and be turned into an  _alebrije,_  he must have had a photo on an  _ofrenda_  at some point. It's hard to say if he still has a living family depending on how long he might have been a spirit guide, but there's a possibility."

"What if he has a  _dead_  family that's been missing him all this time?"

Héctor can only imagine the heartbreak they must have gone through when their child first went missing in the living world at some point during  _Día de los Muertos_  of all nights—a time to celebrate. Had he gotten lost sometime during the beginning and they had spent most of the holiday trying to find him, or had it been too late and they were forced to cross the bridge without him?

Were they still looking for him in the Land of the Dead? Héctor isn't sure what to think, and the thought of a lost and scared child that came to be Dante causes his heart to flutter. Or maybe Dante had been an orphan with no family to speak of at all, which was even worse to think about.

"It's hard to say, but they might have even passed on through the Final Death depending on how long it's been," he concludes. "I'm not sure if the Final Death itself affects  _alebrijes_  the same as skeletons. He could be immune..." It made sense, especially since their job was to help guide lost, wandering spirits. The Final Death wouldn't affect them the same way it would a skeleton...

"So they wouldn't be looking for him if they are living because he passed on, right?" Miguel asks, still unsure. The thought  _what if someone is looking for him_  just won't leave him alone. Dante may have once had a family and now that they know, it was a fact they couldn't ignore.

He hopes not. Maybe it was selfish, but if Dante  _does_  have a family, a part of him doesn't want to find or somehow run into them. Dante had been a good friend from the very start, even before his  _abuelita_  had warned him about naming street dogs. He couldn't have told anyone anyway, but Miguel had shared his secret passion for music with him. Dante would follow him to the ends of the earth and back, especially now that he was an official spirit guide.

"It always made me sad to see children in the Land of the Dead. I never would have thought that Dante..." Héctor shakes his head, his mind overwhelmed with what they had just discovered, and what may have happened to Dante that led him to become a spirit guide.

"Do you think he remembers them? His family?" If he  _did_  have a family, Miguel wonders why he hadn't stayed with them to be their  _alebrije._  On second thought, Dante seems to remember that he was turned into a spirit guide. Maybe it was just difficult for him to remember certain things as time had gone on...Miguel couldn't imagine ever forgetting his own family like Mamá Coco almost had, and especially not Héctor after trying so hard to save him from the Final Death.

"I'm not sure,  _chamaco..._ maybe. But he passed on and was transformed into a spirit guide by getting stuck somehow here in the Land of the Living. We might be the only family he has in his eyes, and his job as an  _alebrije_  is second nature now," Héctor says softly. Maybe Dante doesn't even  _want_  to find his family again if he has one.

"But it looks like someone's been taking care of him all this time we were separated. He must have escaped recently, and we're lucky we decided to go for a walk today," Miguel points out. Héctor agrees, glad that he'd finally gotten up to do something instead of continuing to be stuck in bed all day.

Looking closer, he can see that Miguel is right. Dante wears a blue shirt with a yellow ball design that has a blue stripe around it and a red star in the middle, as well as black shorts. His hair is neatly combed—or  _used_  to be with it sticking out in places since knocking Héctor down. At second glance, Héctor also realizes that the dog-boy is wearing a pair of shoes as well that he tries his best to rip off with his teeth.

"I feel sorry for whoever found him. They must have been so confused," Héctor chuckles.

He wonders if Dante was found in the cemetery like he had been, or if the dog had wandered around a little first before being discovered. It was probably a good thing they hadn't been found together, as questions would have come up that he doesn't have the answers to. Maybe Miguel's parents would have even assumed that Dante was his son, only to find out he was lying later. It would have never worked! Their separation, no matter how worrisome and heartbreaking it had been, was a good thing. Now that they were together again, none of it mattered.

"Well, they did a good job...except making sure he didn't get out. Who's a good escape artist? You are. Yes, you're a good escape artist!"

Dante barks eagerly at Miguel's high-pitched praise, leaping up from Héctor's lap like he's ready to go home.

 _Home..._ even if the Rivera household had never really been his home, what with  _Abuelita_  always warning him about strays. But maybe, just  _maybe_  if they explain what happened to Dante,  _Abuelita_  would allow him to stay and he would be just as lucky as Héctor. Then when the year was up and  _Día de los Muertos_  came again, both Dante and Héctor would be able to go to their real home once they were changed back to normal.

Dante may have once had a family that it would be nice to reunite him with, but as Héctor had said, his job as an  _alebrije_  was second nature now; it would be wrong as well to take something so important away from a spirit guide. But maybe if they  _do_  somehow find Dante's family, hopefully they would be understanding and allow him to remain an  _alebrije_  if he wants.

"We better get out of here and hide him at home before whoever found him starts looking," Miguel says, peeking around the corner of the alleyway to make sure the coast is clear.

Héctor gets up from the ground to dust himself off. "How are we going to explain this to your Mamá and Papá? We can't exactly hide him from them."

Miguel immediately comes to a decision. This isn't like hiding Héctor's identity; Dante would be impossible to keep a secret without lying again, and since Héctor had revealed that he was a part of their family and not anyone made up, they can't exactly lie and say that Dante was his son or something else ridiculous along those lines.

Miguel lets out an almost frustrated sigh, but manages to keep himself composed. They'd found Dante! He should be happy and he  _is,_  even if Dante is no longer the dog he knew.

"I promised no more secrets and lying," he tells Héctor firmly as if to convince himself. He'd  _promised._  "We  _have_  to tell them, even if they don't believe us."

Héctor nods in reluctant agreement. There was no avoiding this, so they might as well get it over with the best they can.

Miguel's next question causes Héctor to freeze in place, even if they haven't started moving yet. Dante sticks close by his side as though he's afraid of being separated again, and Héctor doesn't blame him.

"How are we going to move him?"

Since Dante used to be a dog, he's still acting like one. He would walk like a dog, and people would surely start asking questions. He pants, reaching up a hind leg in an attempt to scratch himself behind the ears, only to nearly fall face-first onto the dirt before Héctor catches him and places him back comfortably on all fours. Something unseen to Héctor and Miguel catches his eye outside the alleyway, and he starts to move forward in the same all-fours position.

Miguel gasps, reaching towards the dog-boy to drag him back into the alleyway where no one will see him.

"You're not exactly a dog anymore...boy," Miguel says sheepishly, and Dante whines. "Papa Héctor is going to carry you...okay?"

Dante turns his attention to Héctor as he reaches his arms out. A few steps later, he finds himself sitting comfortably in his human's arms, wrapping his own gently around Héctor's neck and causing the former skeleton to smile warmly in Miguel's direction.

_Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be..._

He can't help but think of Coco when he used to hold her like this, and she would reach her arms out towards him as if to try and stop her Papá from leaving.

Miguel smiles back at the heartwarming action, but his expression soon turns serious as it can be with what they had just found about Dante. They can't allow anymore people like the restaurant worker seeing him should he somehow be recognized, risking questions that may likely lead to the Land of the Dead, and Héctor understands this if Dante indeed used to have a family.

They have to get back home and fast, and then think of a way to tell Miguel's Mamá and Papá without them thinking they were even more  _loco_  than before.

Easier said than done...

But imagining the looks on Luisa and Enrique's faces makes the impending truth they were about to reveal worth it.

xxxx

For the most part, Dante doesn't try to escape Héctor's arms on the way back to the Rivera household. That is, until their home comes into view. He squirms in Héctor's arms, desperately trying to break free until Héctor is worried enough that he may drop him by accident. Reluctantly, he bends down so Dante can leap out of his arms and make a safe landing on all fours, his bare hands getting dirty once more.

Miguel gives him a glare but Héctor only shrugs, smiling awkwardly.

"Dante! Dante, come back!" Miguel hisses in a loud whisper to no avail as Dante lurches forward in his excitement to be here again at his humans' home he was only allowed to visit once a year now.

Luisa jumps and nearly screams in surprise, dropping the jar of baby food that she had been feeding Socorro to the kitchen floor. Her daughter babbles and laughs from her high chair, reaching an arm forward to point at the strange boy that has just entered their home.

Dante makes an attempt to rush forward and eat the spilled baby food, only to have hands wrap around his sides and drag him backwards. He barks, letting out a disappointed whine and turning around to see his boy keeping a firm hold on him so he can't break loose again.

"Miguel? Who's this?" Luisa questions once she regains her bearings and turns around to see her son, blinking in obvious confusion at the way the child next to him is acting and just as baffled as they had been when they'd first run into Dante.

If Miguel has a new friend, that was fine. In fact, she would be happy if he was making new friends. But why did he just  _bark?_  And why was he standing on all fours?

Miguel gives his mother an awkward smile, unprepared on how to explain. If only Dante had given him a little more time to think of an explanation, maybe this would be easier...Héctor waits outside, unwilling to risk coming into the kitchen uninvited.

Just when it seems things can't get any worse, Enrique decides to make an entrance at the worst possible time to see the spilled baby food still on the floor and his son with the strange boy, little Socorro laughing.

"Miguel..." is all Enrique can say at first. What is his son up to now?

"He's...a friend," Miguel starts. Dante's nonexistent tail wags, his attention focusing back onto the tempting baby food. Luisa and Enrique only stare, their eyes growing wider by the minute.

"He used to be a stray," Miguel continues, unable to shake the awkward feeling away.  _"Abuelita_  said not to name any street dogs, but I didn't listen and called him Dante...he was able to travel back and forth between here and the Land of the Dead, but then he led me to Papa Héctor and became a real spirit guide—an  _alebrije._  There aren't just skeletons in the Land of the Dead." He smiles faintly at the memory of when he'd first seen the colorful and vibrant beings as his deceased family led him across the bridge.

His parents remain silent, and Miguel takes a deep breath. He can only hope that when this is over, there would be no more surprises he'd have to explain.

"He's not a stray anymore," Miguel continues, "just like skeletons, he was also affected when he got stuck here with Papa Héctor. He turned into a human...but he's still Dante."

He can still feel the tension. His parents, having just accepted that Héctor came back from the dead, are more willing to listen than before. But the idea of an  _alebrije_ -dog transforming into a human was just as difficult—if not  _more_  difficult—to believe than the dead coming back to life.

If explaining won't work, the idea comes to Miguel that maybe a demonstration will be better, their old routine coming to mind. He releases his hold on Dante, and the former dog instantly makes a break for the baby food on the floor that won't stop taunting him.

"Sit!" Miguel cries before he can go any further. Dante stops in his tracks, head whipping around.

He sits obediently much to Miguel's relief, ignoring the baby food.

"Lie down!" Miguel commands.

Dante lays on the floor. Luisa and Enrique remain in an uncomfortable, awkward silence. Yet somehow, Miguel determines that they're also nothing other than confused and amazed that this child is responding to their son in such a way—just like a dog.

"Roll over!"

Dante rolls until his arms and legs are flopping in the air.

"Fist bump!"

Dante tilts his head to the side, but Miguel only grins. He'd never known how to do a fist bump as a dog, so why would he know how to do one as a human? It was only further confirmation that the child is indeed their long-lost  _alebrije._

"Good...boy, Dante," Miguel praises. Dante springs up from his roll-over position, and Miguel realizes that he doesn't have a treat he can give him. But once again, Dante sets his sights on the spilled baby food. He jumps towards the green goo, happily lapping it up with his tongue before Luisa can even consider cleaning the mess.

"Ugh..." Miguel whispers in disgust. He glances at his Mamá and Papá, smiling awkwardly once again. "So...can he stay, too? I promise he won't be any trouble."

 _Burp._ Dante looks towards them, green smear covering the smile on his mouth. Baby Socorro laughs, her tiny arms flailing as if she knows that Dante is not entirely human, wanting to reach forward to pet him.

Enrique lets out a quiet sigh. There were a lot of unexplained things in the universe, including coming back to life as they just learned. If what happened to Héctor was possible, then maybe a dog turning into a human was possible, too.

Luisa would not take kindly to sending the child back out onto the streets, especially if he really  _is_  the gray  _Xolo_  dog that followed Miguel.

Miguel had kept his promise and told the truth, no matter how impossible it may seem. He had said he would listen, and he  _will._

He turns to his wife, and she nods with a slight smile. Enrique looks back towards Miguel, his son's own smile widening ever bigger at the thought that 'Dante' would be allowed to stay with them. Telling the truth had paid off!

"Talk to your  _abuelita,"_  Enrique states.

Miguel's smile drops just as soon as it had formed.

xxxx

It appears that Dante still has a bit of his  _alebrije_  instincts intact, finding  _Abuelita_  in the  _ofrenda_  room. She cups her hands over her chest, smiling widely at the newly returned photo placed on top. Héctor follows Miguel and the dog-boy reluctantly, dreading what she would say about the two of them. Miguel's parents may have said he could stay, but they still needed her approval, as well. She was the head of this family, afrer all—the reason a music ban had been so sternly implemented.

"Papa Héctor found it,  _Abuelita,"_  Miguel says nervously, his heart pounding almost out of control. His Mamá and Papá were one thing, but his  _abuelita_  was another entirely.

She turns around at the sound of her grandson's voice.

"What was that,  _mijo?"_  She asks nicely, stopping when Héctor comes into her view and not even noticing the child sitting down like a dog.

"He's Papa Héctor...the same person in the photo," Miguel says carefully. Her glare burns straight through Héctor's soul, making him want to run like he had felt like doing with Miguel's parents.

"I knew there was something strange about you!  _You're_  the one who took the photo off the  _ofrenda_ , and put it back so we'd think you actually found it!" She screeches, reaching down quickly to pull off a shoe—exactly what Héctor had been afraid of.

"No,  _Abuelita!"_  Miguel shouts, instantly coming to his grandfather's defense before the shoe can come down.

"I was the one who took the photo down—so no one would find out who he really is...Mamá Coco's Papá. It's true!" He says in a rush before she can attempt to try and strike again.

Elena doesn't respond at first, her attention focusing on Héctor. But then her gaze hardens, and she lets loose an unexpected shout that causes both Miguel and his great-great grandfather to jump.

"You are the  _músico_  who left this family?!" It was so much worse than when she'd thought he had just taken the photo!

Miguel can understand her sudden anger. She may have forgiven Héctor's  _spirit_  that he had left, but it was a different story now that he was here in person.

 _"...Si,"_  Héctor croaks uneasily, unable to tear his gaze away from Elena's shoe that's mere inches from his face. "But I didn't leave them. I mean I did at first, but then I was—"

"He was murdered by de la Cruz!" Miguel cuts in. Still sitting on his legs next to him, Dante growls at the mention of the one who had killed Héctor.

"I tried to go home," Héctor says quietly, unsure of what else he can say. He had already explained his story to Luisa and Enrique, and he doesn't exactly feel up to repeating the whole thing again, though he has Miguel's help this time.

"If you are really Papa Héctor," Elena says, more than suspicious and unwilling to lower her shoe, "then how are you  _here?_  He's gone."

"He came back to life this year on  _Día de los Muertos,"_  Miguel explains cautiously. "The Land of the Dead is real and all of the made up stories about the dead coming back to visit are real, too," he finishes.

Elena blinks, and lets out a sound between a laugh and a snort. "Coming back to life...it's  _impossible!"_

"But it happened,  _Abuelita,"_  Miguel assures her. "He has to wait a year before he can go back to the Land of the Dead, and he has to stay with us! Dante needs to stay, too. He's our spirit guide but he was changed into a human! Please!"

Luisa and Enrique finally decide to step in the  _ofrenda_  room and come to the rescue, much to Héctor's relief.

 _"Mijo,_  are you listening to this child?" Elena whips around to face her son, unintentionally forcing him to take a nervous step back when he finds her shoe just inches from his wide eyes.

"It's true, Mamá. They both told the whole story—Miguel promised not to lie again. My son is not  _loco,_  and neither is his great-great grandfather."

Héctor has to smile a bit at his words, warmess enveloping him that Enrique has really and truly accepted him for who he is.

"You're just as  _loco!_  What ideas have you all been feeding my poor little Miguelito?!" Elena pleads for an answer, but one isn't given. She sets her shoe onto Héctor again, nearly causing him to trip backwards over himself.

 _"Abuelita,_  please...it's only for a year and then he can go back. Dante, too," Miguel adds, glancing down at the dog-boy who hasn't left his place next to him.

Elena isn't amused at how similar the child's actions remind her of the street dog that always followed Miguel. She just couldn't comprehend that he was saying they are indeed one and the same.

"Mamá and Papá already said yes," Miguel says with a grin.

"What?!"  _She_  is the one who runs this household! She had made sure that the music ban stayed in place all those years. Her son had just decided to let the man  _stay?!_

"It's only for a year and then they'll be able to go back. Right,  _mijo?"_  Enrique asks Miguel.

He nods in confirmation, though he's not sure if he should mention  _how_  they'll be getting back home—by  _stealing._  He could keep that certain part a secret, for now.

Elena doesn't put down her shoe, instead reaching her other hand up to rub her forehead wearily as realization and acceptance slowly begin to dawn on her. If even her son believes Miguel and the man's story...

She has just discovered that the Land of the Dead is  _real._  That her Mamá's Papá is here with them right now. She's always believed in the stories of the dead returning on their special night, but to have living, breathing proof...

Has Héctor actually... _talked_  to her mother since her death?

Elena's mind can't handle this new revelation. The shoe drops from her weakened grasp, falling with a  _thud_  to the floor. Her poor heart begins to race, and she has to place a hand over her chest to help calm it down. She gasps to try and regain her quickening breath, swaying on two feet but managing to keep herself balanced.

 _"Abuelita!_ Are you okay?" Miguel asks quickly, reaching both arms out as if to catch her should she fall.

"I'm fine,  _mijo._  Just feeling a little dizzy," Elena reassures her grandson though Miguel isn't too sure she's telling the truth, especially if it had caught Dante's attention. The spirit guide whines, inching closer with all fours bent closer to the floor. If he had a tail, Miguel was sure it wouldn't be wagging, but tucked between his legs.

"Are you sure? You don't need a doctor?" Enrique asks. Héctor shudders slightly at the word 'doctor.' He definitely doesn't want to see another one anytime soon.

"I'm alright," Elena says more confidently. She turns to face the man who had somehow come back to life. "Now...are you  _really_  our Papa Héctor?"

Héctor can only nod in a panic, hoping she won't bend down to pick up her shoe again.

"And where is the little one going to sleep?"  _Abuelita_  asks, eyebrows raised. She suddenly notices that the child is no longer in the room, and Miguel gasps. They can't allow Dante to go wandering around Santa Cecilia while he's stuck as a human!

Héctor is glad to have an excuse to leave the  _ofrenda_  room away from Miguel's  _abuelita_  and parents; he can only imagine what meeting the rest of the family will be like.

"You can't keep wandering off like that," Miguel scolds when they manage to find him in the guest room, as if he knows it's where Héctor is currently staying. Dante ignores his human friend, making himself comfortable at the end of the bed. He yawns, circling a few times before laying down with blinking, tired eyes until they begin to close.

"He may stay here until we figure out what to do about another bed," Enrique's quiet voice interrupts the calm and relaxing moment.

"It's fine with me," Héctor agrees. He certainly doesn't mind the idea of sharing his bed with Dante, especially after so long apart; he's not eager to let the human-dog out of his sight anytime soon, especially not after he had watched him fade in such a terrible way.

"Then it's settled," Luisa says, a soft smile forming.

Miguel can't believe it, but he's glad he had decided to tell his parents and  _abuelita_  the truth; everything had gone smoother than they'd thought it would, and the best part was...

Dante can stay!

xxxx

 _He misses his Mamá and Papá, and doesn't understand why he's been separated from them for an entire year, as he had once heard his_ abuelita _say._

 _"In a year, we'll get to visit and you'll see them again when they put your photo on the_ ofrenda," _she had told him. "You don't have to worry. Your Mamá and Papá miss you, but they will always remember you. Next year will come in the blink of an eye."_

 _One minute he was about to fall asleep, and then he had woken up here without them by his side. Why couldn't they have come with him to the strange, colorful place they have to go back to? He's sure they would love it like he does, if only they could have come along. He loves his_ abuelita _just as much, but he misses them. He wants them back; he doesn't want to have to wait another year to see them again. They can't even_ see _him!_

 _"Stay close,_ mijo," _his_ abuelita _says, gripping his glowing and orange hand just enough so he won't slip loose as they travel from home back to the pretty bridge. "Sunrise is dangerous. We don't know what could happen if we stay after tonight."_

_All he knows is that he wants his Mamá and Papá, and has to find his way home again._

_Mamá had been crying while_ _Papá comforted her._

_He has to be with them!_

Abuelita _won't like it, but he manages to slip free without her noticing. Now he's alone, glancing every which way for her_ _—but_   _she's gone. He can't remember the way back home but even if he did, he clearly remembers her words about sunrise being dangerous. He has no choice but to try and find his way back to the bridge by himself, but he doesn't remember the way!_

_He's alone, and feels tears begin to stream down his cheeks. The sun is rising, and his phantom heart pounds faster as he remembers his abuelita's words. He's not supposed to be outside now! It's dangerous!_

_But he just can't remember the way back to the bridge..._

_His thoughts grow unclear and less precise as the sun continues to rise._

_A tingly feeling begins to overtake his body until nothing but an overwhelming sense of new purpose comforts his fear and sadness—a feeling that he'll help lost, wandering spirits find their way back where they belong so the same thing will never happen to them._

_New instincts lead him towards a shining, orange bridge. A glowing skeleton passes by, the bones on his body too tempting to ignore. Something familiar about the skeleton crosses his mind. He was looking for something, but what...? Hadn't he once been...?_

_But the strange thoughts never finish as he barks eagerly, chasing the frightened body of bones into this new and interesting world._

Dante wakes sharply, the images disappearing far into the back of his mind forgotten and discovering that he's back safe and sound in Héctor's bed. A new sensation crawls unwelcome into the center of his soul—the feeling that he and his human Héctor are not the only two in the room:

An uninvited guest has made its way inside.

Almost overwhelmed by the negative sensations, Dante shakes his head in a desperate attempt to ward off the energy. His eyes meet the unwelcome spirit's, and he stands on all fours in his place at the end of the bed.

His  _alebrije_  instincts may be dampened in his young human form, but the spirit's energy is strong and full of hate, seeking revenge for what had happened to it.

Though he is no longer a hairless  _Xolo_  dog in the Land of the Living, Dante looks back at Héctor and then forward again, baring his teeth protectively and growling a warning into the night.


	10. Chapter 10

_We're at double-digit chapters now! Yay! To celebrate 100+ reviews on FF, this is the longest chapter so far not counting this author's note! And here's a fun fact I just realized, but better late than never: The song that this story is named after was used in the Christopher Robin official trailer!_

_Thank you everyone for your support. It means a lot ^^_

xxxx

Breathing steadily, Héctor peeks an eye open. The sun is just beginning to rise, and he turns his attention to the small lump still resting at the end of the bed.

Dante's back leg twitches along with one of his front hands, and Héctor can only assume that he's dreaming about something. Whatever it is, he hopes that it's a pleasant dream. The dog-boy's brown eyes peek open slightly as if he can feel that someone is watching him, meeting Héctor's. The former skeleton smiles softly at the  _alebrije_ -turned-human; he's still so  _relieved_  that Dante is okay, even if he was transformed back into a human just as he had been. It was a good thing that he and Miguel had gone for a walk yesterday, or else they may not have found each other.

Héctor shudders slightly at the idea of never finding Dante, and the possibility that he would have been stuck in his human form without them even knowing and never to be reunited. Thankfully, his fall when Dante knocked him down hasn't affected his body so he would have to stay in bed again. His muscles aren't too sore from the ordeal, a sign that his human body is getting stronger each day he's here in the Land of the Living...he's not entirely sure that's a good thing. He's not  _supposed_  to get stronger—he's supposed to be  _dead._

Gone.

But he's still here. He'll have to gather enough courage to finally ask Miguel just how much time has passed since finding him in the cemetery, and maybe even what  _year_  it is. He has a faint idea, but he needs to hear it or else he won't believe the reality that he's so far in the future from when he had been murdered.

Dante yawns, his eyes opening wider until it seems that he's more awake than Héctor is, fully noticing that his human is staring at him. He moves to stretch his front arms out, yawning a second time until his muscles are satisfied and he sits on his hind legs. Assuming that Dante will stay in place, Héctor allows his eyes to slide shut once more. But just before they're closed all the way, movement jerks him awake again.

The young boy jumps down onto the floor and walks on all fours—Héctor will never understand how he does it so steadily as a human without hurting himself—towards the back door that leads outside. Héctor blinks wearily as Dante paws at it, whining. Rubbing his eyes to get rid of his tiredness, Héctor only stares from the bed as Dante sits expectantly at the door until he begins to paw at it again with his human hands.

"You...you want to go out?" Héctor asks in a murmur, unable to rid himself of his weariness just yet. It was still so early...maybe if he closes his eyes again, the dog-boy would just come back onto the bed and they would get to sleep in awhile longer.

But Dante only paws the door again, this time with more urgency. Héctor's eyes widen at the sudden realization that maybe...maybe Dante just has to go to the bathroom. Suddenly more awake than before, he forces himself to sit up, pondering how it would be possible for a dog turned into a human to relieve himself. Dante might have been human before, but what if he doesn't remember how to go to the bathroom at all?

_Dios mio._

It hadn't taken that long for Héctor to get used to going to the bathroom again at least, but he empathizes with Dante anyway.

It's still early enough that hardly anyone would be outside. It would just be a quick little trip to wherever Dante decided to 'go' and then they would come right back, no harm done. The longer they waited, the higher the chance that someone would catch Dante in the act (or risk the former dog actually going  _inside..._ ) and so Héctor does his best to bring himself out of bed.

 _His_  bed, now...but only for a year, he has to remind himself. It's not his bed  _permanently._  Putting on his beloved shoes he still holds close to his heart, Héctor slowly leads Dante outside to the courtyard. The dog-boy sniffs the ground in a few places, and Héctor waits patiently until it seems that Dante has found a spot right next to the courtyard's back gate that leads further outside into the streets of Santa Cecilia.

He won't watch when Dante sits and stares up at him expectantly, immediately turning away. He waits until he feels something tugging at his pants, glancing down to see Dante attempting to pull him closer to the gate.

Héctor shakes his head once he understands what Dante wants to do; his street dog instincts must be really strong at the moment, urging him to wander just as he had done as a normal _Xolo_  dog.

"We can't," he tells Dante regretfully. If he was still a dog, it would be different. Héctor would be happy to take him for a walk, and maybe even let him wander off on his own like he always used to do after he was done following Miguel...even if Héctor would be hesitant to let him leave since they had just been reunited the day before.

But he's a small human child now that acts just like a dog, and that would surely cause questions to come up if they came across anyone on the walk.

There was also the issue of whoever had found the dog-boy possibly coming to search for him. What if they ran into each other? Héctor doesn't have the slightest idea of what he could say as an explanation.

 _Oh, the child you found is actually a spirit guide from the Land of the Dead who was once human?_  Héctor doubts they would be understanding and just let them leave without a more realistic explanation.

A creaking sound distracts Héctor from his thoughts, pulling him back to reality. Glancing down, he's shocked to see that Dante has somehow managed to open the gate.

The dog-boy sits on the other side, tongue hanging out and smiling as if he's proud of what he accomplished.

"Come back here," Héctor says in a loud whisper, afraid that raising his voice any higher will wake the other Riveras. But Dante refuses to move anywhere  _but_  back into the courtyard, getting up on all fours again and wagging his invisible tail as if he's ready to play.

The moment Héctor takes a step forward, the dog-boy shoots off in the other direction away from him at a surprisingly alarming speed, especially for one racing on all fours.

"Dante!" Héctor has no choice but to shout, and even less of a choice when he's ignored. Groaning in frustration, he picks up the pace as fast as his new human legs can carry him in the dog-boy's direction—his first time actually _running_  in his human body, he realizes.

It seems like an eternity before Dante suddenly stops in his tracks, a white cloud enveloping his little body.

Wait...not a cloud, but...glancing up, Héctor realizes that he's been led right into the cemetery. Fog begins to envelop the two of them, circling gently. A chill sweeps down Héctor's spine, causing him to shudder. He hasn't been back here since Miguel's blessing had failed, and he's not sure if he  _wants_  to be back. He would rather just wait a year until he can actually  _see_  the bridge that's supposed to be just ahead of them, not when he's unable to see anything or anyone.

But maybe Dante doesn't understand that since he's a human now as well, it also means that he can't see the other side, either.

Dante whines, pawing desperately at the physical wall that blocks them from entering the Land of the Dead. Thanks to his many failed attempts at crossing the bridge, Héctor is sure that the invisible barrier is still there alongside the living world's wall, blocking the dead from entering the Land of the Living.

His thumping heart hurts for the poor  _alebrije,_  doing his best to explain even if he isn't sure Dante can understand all of his words.

"We're human now. We can't see the Land of the Dead...or anyone in it," he says sadly, his gaze downcast. It just hurts too much, stabbing at his sensitive chest. Dante sits, staring up at him with wide and curious eyes. But then he whines again until he's suddenly at attention, growling at empty space behind Héctor. He glances back but sees nothing, though Dante is still growling.

"What is it?" He asks, albeit cautiously.

All of a sudden, he's taken back to that fateful morning. He'd been so  _close_  to crossing the bridge again, but...

Ernesto had appeared in his Frida outfit—another idea stolen from him. What else could that man take from him now apart from his afterlife?

Nothing. He has to tell himself that Ernesto is  _gone_  and isn't coming back, having faded permanently on that morning after the holiday.

But it seems that Dante is sure someone is in the cemetery with them, though there isn't anyone that Héctor can see. It's only himself, Dante and the never-ending fog that won't stop wrapping around the graves.

"You're a  _loco_  dog...boy, you know that?" Héctor says, patting Dante gently on the head. He growls lightly in response, shaking his head to get rid of Héctor's hand.

"What's gotten into you? There's nothing here," Héctor insists. "We should go back before anyone notices we're gone."

He and Miguel had been lucky so far in that department. From sneaking here to the cemetery the first time and then climbing to the attic with him once and then by himself another time, they were lucky no one had noticed. Though now that Miguel's parents know who he really is, it probably wouldn't be too much of an issue if they discovered he was missing for an hour or two. Still, he doesn't want to take any chances that they might think he had abandoned them like Imelda so long ago.

Now that he's here in the Land of the Living, he makes a pact with himself that he will  _always_  be with his living family throughout the year he's 'stuck' with them, and that means he has to go back now.

It's still too early for anyone else to really be in the cemetery or around Santa Cecilia, so Héctor allows Dante to walk on all fours for the time being as they make their way back to the Rivera home and into bed. The dog-boy growls the whole way at something only he can see, but Héctor can only shake his head in confusion and wonder at what whatever he was growling at could possibly be.

When they arrive back home and he slips tiredly into bed once more, Héctor doesn't even remember closing his eyes and going back to sleep after he wakes up again, and dusk is settling in.

xxxx

Waking up and finding it mostly dark already was confusing, but the sound of children's laughter is music to Héctor's ears. He smiles as he watches Benny and Manny play in the center of the courtyard, eagerly chasing the new child that runs on all fours once they get over their confusion as to  _why_  he's running on all fours and not two legs. It seems that Dante has calmed down from their trip to and from the cemetery, no longer growling at some unseen force.

The former dog runs to him at one point, his behind wagging like he still has a tail. His mouth is open with his tongue hanging out, and he smiles widely up at Héctor as if he's asking the musician to come and play with them.

But Héctor only shakes his head in exasperation. "How are you so used to life already? I'm still  _not..."_

As evidenced by the fact that simply _running_  had left him worn out enough to sleep most of the day away.

Dante 'yips' quietly in his young and innocent human voice. Benny comes up to wave a stick over his head, and Dante's eyes dart wildly this way and that to stay glued to the stick. Benny hands the stick to his twin brother, and Manny takes initiative to throw it a few feet away. Dante barks eagerly, bending down in a play position before he bounds after it and takes the stick into his mouth, bringing it back to the brothers for them to throw again.

Though disgusted at picking up a stick from the ground with his mouth, Héctor can't help but smile at the dog-boy's silly antics. He feels a presence beside him, looking down to see his great-great grandson.

"I figured you could use a good sleep," Miguel says quietly as he watches the twins and Dante playing, as well. "When you didn't react or wake up to anything, I thought something must have happened to make you so worn out. So we let you sleep in."

"Dante wanted to go to the cemetery," Héctor admits uneasily, knowing the boy won't like it one bit.

Miguel glances up at him, eyes wide. "What?! What if someone saw him? Or you?" There was still the possibility and risk that someone could recognize him from the photo. He and Dante have to stay here at home for their own good!

"I couldn't really stop him," Héctor says to defend himself. "He's faster than me, even when he runs like a dog." He never thought he'd say such a silly thing in his afterlife  _nor_  life.

Miguel sighs in frustration, realizing why Héctor had worn himself out so much. "Be more careful next time," he scolds. "You could be recognized from your photo, and someone might be looking for Dante." Especially if whoever had found him had taken such good care of him...

Héctor nods in understanding. _All because I'm...we're not supposed to be here. We're supposed to be **dead.**  Or I am, at least._

It might be wrong to think since Dante is only a young child, but Héctor has to admit it feels nice not being the only one brought back to life, to not be the only one in a place where they aren't supposed to be. It was nice to have someone who knows what it feels like...almost. Maybe one day during his year in the living world, he'll learn to enjoy life. But not as quick as Dante...though maybe he _should_  while he has a chance. He had been given a  _second_  chance, after all.

Héctor closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He has to ask the burning question now before it drives him _loco,_  no matter what difference it would make how close the year was to being over. It had to be awhile now, and he hopes a lot of time has passed already.

"Miguel..."

He says silent, allowing his Papá to finish.

"How long has it been?"

"Since what?" Miguel asks, though he has a feeling of what it might be.

"Since you found me in the cemetery?" Héctor asks, confirming his suspicion that it was about how long it had been since he was found. Miguel isn't sure how Héctor will react; if it will make him upset or at least a little relieved, but he answers anyway.

"Almost a month."

Héctor's eyes widen at the revelation, his heart beating just a tiny bit faster. It made sense...all those days in bed had felt like forever.

"How many months are in a year?" Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows the answer, but he wants to hear it with his newly returned ears just to be sure.

"Twelve."

Only twelve months—thinking of it like that made it seem a little shorter than thinking of it as an entire  _year._

The next question is a little harder for some reason, and he's almost afraid of what the answer will be.

"What _year_  is it?"

Miguel pauses as if he's unsure of answering for fear of making Héctor upset, but continues on.

"2018."

Of course, Héctor knows it's been at least ninety years since he'd died. But actually _hearing_  how long it's really been from Miguel doesn't help him get used to the idea that he's been dead for so long, and is still supposed to be dead right now.

"Papa Héctor?"

He looks down to see Miguel holding a small, oddly-shaped object.

"What is that?" He questions curiously. For some reason, it reminds him of a smaller version of the blinky-thingy security used to let skeletons cross the bridge.

It takes Miguel a moment to realize that he's talking about the device he's holding, and he grins. Of  _course_  Papa Héctor doesn't know what it is—especially not after so many years have passed since he died and he has no clue about how much technology has changed.

"It's a cell phone," he states with a shrug. No big deal.

"A...cell phone?" Héctor asks slowly.

"It's how most people communicate nowadays, but sometimes they still send letters like you used to," Miguel explains, holding the phone out so Héctor can take a closer look.

He can only stare in both fascination and confusion at the small blinky-thingy, wondering in amazement how a phone so small could even  _work._

"There are phones in the Land of the Dead, right?" Miguel asks. He can recall phones being used in the Department of Family Reunions, especially the Re-Entry clerk up front when he'd asked if they had anything to declare, and had revealed Miguel only to have his jaw drop off in shock. They had been old phones, but phones nonetheless. What would his great-great grandfather think of a modern  _computer?_  He has so much to show him!

"I-I guess so." Héctor never really put much thought into how skeletons communicated back and forth in the Land of the Dead, since he himself never exactly had a need to communicate with anyone—not even his own family.

"Well, this is just a smaller phone that also has internet and other stuff. I don't have my own yet, but Prima Rosa let me borrow hers. I thought maybe I could take another photo with just you in it. You know, because...I lost the other one."

How was that tiny thing even able to take photos in the first place? What was internet? Héctor wants to inspect it and learn more, but Miguel takes first priority when his words reach his ears.

"It wasn't your fault," he tells him firmly. How could Miguel even think such a thing? There was nothing he could have done, not when sunrise had been so close to approaching. They had both been on the line, and Miguel needed to get home.

"But it was," Miguel says, unable to stop the guilt from seeping through him. If only he had just hung onto the photo tighter, he would have been able to save Héctor faster. "I let go of it when Pepita rescued me from falling."

"Then it was Pepita's fault. But let's keep that between us," Héctor says, giving his grandson a wink. He wouldn't want Pepita finding out what he'd just said. She would surely throw him off a building like Ernesto had done to Miguel when he was returned to his skeleton form and could simply pull himself back together.

Miguel nods lightly in agreement, though he still can't help but feel guilty on the inside. He'd been so  _close_  to saving Héctor from the Final Death, only to have the photo be ripped away from his hands in the sharp wind as Pepita carried him back up. Then again, maybe it had been a good thing that he'd dropped the photo. He might have never rushed to play Mamá Coco her song, and she never would have fully regained her memory if he had just put Héctor's photo back on the  _ofrenda._  But she'd had the missing piece of Héctor that was able to be re-attached to the original family photo, so it had all worked out in the end and Héctor was still saved from the Final Death. Miguel forces himself to shake his guilt away, at least for the time being. Now he could make up for losing Héctor's single photo!

"Ready?"

Héctor gives a thumbs up, standing in front of the well where Miguel had sung while playing his guitar on  _Día de los Muertos;_  it would be a nice sentiment.

"Smile," Miguel says with a bright smile of his own so Héctor can mimic him.

For a moment, Héctor is taken back to when he'd taken the family photo just before leaving on tour with Ernesto. He forces himself not to think about it, lest he frowns and ruins his new photo.

"I'll put it on the  _ofrenda_  with the copies of your letters in the attic later," Miguel says, satisfied with how it had turned out.

Héctor wonders just  _how_  he'll get the photo off of the phone in the first place, but he decides to let Miguel be the one to handle that without asking any questions.

 _"Mijo,_  dinner is ready!" Luisa calls from the house.

"Can Papa Héctor join us?" Miguel calls back. It was strange, yet somehow...satisfying at the same time using his  _real_  name.

Héctor's smile doesn't leave when Luisa gives her answer, but also feels a twinge of anxiety at the thought of eating with the whole family for the first time.

"I don't see why not. He  _is_  family."

xxxx

His new sense of smell is assaulted by the dinner that lays on the table when he's brought into the kitchen by Miguel and Luisa, but he's not exactly overwhelmed; it all smells delicious, and he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't looking forward to having some. Since he'd missed out on breakfast because of sleeping in, his stomach growls and he has to place a hand gently over it in an attempt to stop the odd sensation that he's still not entirely used to.

He makes a mental note of everyone who's sitting to distract himself from his hunger, his head spiraling almost out of control. His first time actually eating with his living family at the table...he can't do this. It's going to be so awkward now that they know he's not from the living world and is really  _related_  to them.

There's Franco, Elena's husband. Gloria, their daughter and their son Berto. Carmen, Berto's wife. Abel, one of Miguel's cousins as well as Rosa who he had gotten to talk to at least a little bit already and who had been the first to know his true identity.

Then there was Benny and Manny sitting at a children's table along with baby Socorro in a high chair that Luisa sits next to.

He takes a seat hesitantly next to Miguel. Dante follows eagerly, perfectly comfortable with sitting under the table to wait for any food that might fall or maybe even a handout.

Tamales are passed around by Elena and Héctor decides to take at least two; he doesn't want his stomach to get too overwhelmed.

"You are a twig just like your great-great grandson. Have some more," Elena insists, picking up another tamale to place on his plate. But Héctor shakes his head politely.

"No,  _gracias..."_

"I asked if you would like more tamales," Elena says a bit more sternly. Héctor's eyes widen just a little bit at her tone, suddenly understanding that he better listen and take more, no matter if his stomach wouldn't be able to handle it.

_"Si?"_

"That's what I thought you said!" Elena says brightly. "You and Miguelito are so much alike," she coos affectionately, making Héctor even more afraid than if she had been about to threaten him with a shoe.

Héctor takes a bite of a tamale anyway, savoring the delicious taste that his new tongue is now capable of, letting it slide down his throat and into his stomach; he's not sure if he'll ever get used to the odd sensation of actually eating for real. A few more bites and his sensitive stomach already can't take anymore, but being in the same boat with countless tamales of his own, Miguel can easily see his grandfather's problem and nods subtly in Dante's direction under the table. Héctor grins, grabbing another tamale to give the eager dog-boy waiting underneath.

"Aren't we going to talk about it?" Rosa whispers cautiously from her seat on the other side of Miguel, intentionally keeping her voice down so the others won't hear.

"What?" Miguel asks, a bit confused.

"The elephant in the room," Rosa says in response, nodding slightly towards a certain relative.

Oh. She wants to know if they were going to talk about _Héctor_ _—_ or more specifically, the fact that he'd come back to life.

Miguel shrugs towards Rosa, turning his attention back to Héctor and giving his grandfather a chance to decide whether he wants to talk about where exactly he had come from. He isn't sure if his parents or Elena have told the others yet, but at least a part of his question is answered unexpectedly when his cousin Abel speaks up.

"So what's it like in the Land of the Dead?" Miguel's cousin asks, and not exactly in a whisper so everyone can hear and listen in.

Miguel nearly coughs on a glass of water he'd been about to finish, but manages to swallow it down the right way to avoid doing so, shooting a glare at Rosa. She only shrugs back, smiling sheepishly.

She'd  _told?!_  But she promised she would keep it a secret! She must have threatened Abel not to tell Miguel that she'd told _him._

"Is it true that everyone is a skeleton?" Primo Abel asks eagerly. Héctor hadn't expected his afterlife to become a topic so soon, but he probably should have expected it now that they know who he really is.

 _"Si._  But there are also _alebrijes_  like Dante..." Just as Miguel had told him that he'd explained to Luisa and Enrique when Dante bombarded into the kitchen.

"So he's actually a dog?" Franco asks, just as confused as everyone else. Well, it explained why the child acts so strangely and is sitting underneath their table.

"We think he was originally a human first who got stuck here after sunrise like I did," Héctor says, and Franco nods in somewhat understanding, though the whole situation is very confusing to him—just as it  _should_  be to any of the Riveras who haven't gotten sent to the Land of the Dead itself like Miguel last year.

"He's really colorful and shiny! He has wings, too," Héctor adds with a small smile at the thought of Dante's  _alebrije_  form. The dog-boy himself barks, and the family chuckles at how odd his human voice sounds trying to be like a real dog.

"Can he fly?" Gloria asks curiously, much to Miguel's surprise. She was one of the ones who had said his dream of being a musician was a stupid musical fantasy. Now she was asking if dogs could  _fly?_  He guesses that he can't blame her for wanting to know more.

"He doesn't have it down perfectly yet, but _si,"_ Héctor answers with a chuckle of his own.

Now that he's a human, the poor thing will have to get used to his wings all over again when he's turned back into a colorful  _alebrije._

Elena decides to change the subject as she sets the plate of tamales down, taking a seat herself in between Berto and Enrique.

"...How is Mamá?" She asks, her voice quivering just the slightest bit yet filled with hope.

Héctor gives a warm smile. It's nice not to be threatened by her for once, sharing a mutual interest in her mother: his beloved Coco, his daughter that he so desperately needs to get back to.

"She's fine," Héctor says honestly. It's true; while it took time for some to come to terms with the fact that they'd passed, it hadn't seemed to affect Coco the same way. She had accepted her passing right away, despite having to get used to her new skeleton body. "She would sing with me every night like we used to before I..."

 _Left._  Before he'd left her and Imelda to go off on that idiotic tour, only to be murdered and have his songs stolen by his best friend.

But Elena only smiles in return.

"It's alright, Papa Héctor. We understand you meant to come back now but couldn't, that whatever happened was beyond your control. I'm the one who should be saying  _lo siento_  for nearly hitting you with my shoe."

Silence around the table, shock filtering through each of the Riveras that Elena was even saying such a thing—especially 'Papa Héctor' in front of them, much less 'sorry' for almost hitting him with her shoe.

When the awkwardness fades, Enrique brings up a suggestion that Héctor had hoped he would hear eventually for his sanity's sake.

"How would you feel about getting a job in the workshop? We can teach you everything you need to know about the process of making shoes."

"I'd love to help out," Héctor agrees. Imelda had been too reluctant to let him try in the Land of the Dead, and for a number of good reasons. His first time trying had been a  _disaster,_  and neither of them had been too keen on having him try again. But if it would help time pass in the Land of the Living...

"Maybe even Miguel and I can be a team."

 _"Haha,"_  Miguel says plainly, shoving his grandfather lightly in the arm. Héctor _knows_  how he feels about making shoes. But if it's something  _he_  wants to do, Miguel doesn't see a problem with it if it would help time pass quicker for him.

"We have come to an agreement that if Miguel wants to make shoes with us, it would be wonderful. But now that music is back in this family, he is free to choose what he wants," Luisa says gently from her spot at the children's table with Benny, Manny and Socorro.

It all seems too good to be true. First Elena had aplogized, and now Miguel's parents are willing to let him choose between shoes and music?

How could Miguel getting cursed turn out to be such a good thing to happen to this family?

Berto stands up, coming to fill his empty glass with a bottle of...Héctor nearly balks when he realizes what it is, but somehow manages to stay sitting.

_Tequila._

"No,  _gracias..."_  Downing the tequila in Chicharrón's shack after he'd passed was one thing; he hadn't known about what Ernesto had done to him, yet. The truth hadn't been revealed. But willingly drinking tequila now when he knows what really happened was another matter entirely.

Miguel can also see where this is going, slumping a bit in his seat and shaking his head in warning towards his  _tío._  Unfortunately, Berto hasn't heard why Héctor may not be too enthusiastic about tequila.

"I think your great-grandson wants to make a toast," Berto says anyway, nodding in his brother's direction as Enrique prepares to make a statement, standing up; he's probably going to say something about officially welcoming him back into the family even though he and Luisa had already done so, including Elena. Either that or he was going to say something about how he had come back to life. Whatever it is, Héctor just wants to get it over with.

_If you must go, then I'm sending you off with a toast._

He just can't do it...

"Come, now...it's alright to have a little fun after coming back from the dead," Elena tries to convince him. Gloria and Carmen both nod, raising their own glasses as if to tempt him...

Franco grins in approval. "She's right, you know!"

He's anything but tempted, nor convinced. Besides, if he had even a drop of tequila now since he had recently come back to life and was still getting used to his living body in some ways like eating, who knew how he would react?

_To our friendship._

_Please don't make me do it..._

Héctor knows now he doesn't have any choice but to reveal what had happened to him. Why he can't— _won't_ —drink the tequila.

_I would move Heaven and Earth for you, mi amigo. Salud!_

"It's how I...died."

 _Was **murdered,**_  Miguel thinks for him.

Silence around the table, but for a completely different reason other than being shocked by Elena's forgiveness and apology. Everyone stares, except for Abel. He's still trying to finish his plate, but gets harshly interrupted when Rosa prods him with her elbow in the side.

Enrique inwardly smacks himself for even offering the idea of a toast, taking the bottle from his brother and sitting back down to put it to the side in shame. He can faintly remember both Miguel and Héctor saying he had been poisoned, but he doesn't recall either of them saying  _how._  Being poisoned through tequila and a toast of all things unfortunately made a lot of sense, especially if Miguel's former idol had murdered him for his songs like his son had explained. De la Cruz really  _was_  a murderer...

Miguel reaches an arm down, another tamale in hand. Before he knows it, the weight in his hand disappears in an instant.

 _Abuelita_  finally notices at last, giving Miguel's hand a gentle slap. Much to his relief, the family goes back to finishing their dinner, not up for any further conversation.

Héctor gives his grandson a small smile and a nod as thanks for breaking the awkwardness, going back to finish his last tamale lest he wants Elena to give him even more than he's able to finish.

xxxx

He'd already been out with Dante in the morning, but he still feels the need to get up and clear his head; it would be nice and relaxing not having to chase a dog-turned-human around town. He just needs a break, especially after dinner. The food had been so good, but his stomach hurts and he makes sure to go to the bathroom before leaving on his walk.

The pain in the center of his stomach brings back a certain memory he'd rather forget. He figures it's either phantom pains as Miguel had suggested, or he really  _is_  getting food poisoning this time like he had originally thought all those years.

 _How could I be so stupid?_  He scolds himself as he creeps slowly out the back gate that Dante had escaped from earlier being careful not to let it make any creaking noises.

_I should have just had the tequila._

Even if it would have gone against everything he now knows about Ernesto and what he had done to him, or how he would have reacted after drinking because his body is still sensitive. But no matter how hard he would have tried, his fear most likely would have won out.

He doesn't realize how far or long he's been walking until it's completely dark, bumping into something—or _someone_  once he looks up quickly to see who else would be walking now, though it's not too late yet.

"Dr. Mendez!"

For some reason, she seems surprised that it's him who she had just run into, like she wasn't expecting him to still be near the Rivera home. He can't exactly blame her; it's not like she knows he's actually a part of their family.

 _"Hola,_  Señor García. I'm glad to see you're feeling well enough to walk."

Héctor blinks in temporary confusion at the name. He'd told Luisa and Enrique his real name...he's not Gael García anymore. But then it comes back to him that Enrique had probably told Dr. Mendez his made-up name, and she probably still thinks it's his real name; it's probably for the best, anyway. No one outside his family should know his true identity; it wasn't like he was going to go outside too much during his time as a living person. He just needed some fresh air, no matter how unnatural air actually felt...

 _"Si._  I'm feeling much better now and just needed to clear my head a bit," Héctor says uncertainly.

"I know the feeling, though it's not why I've decided to go for a walk tonight," Dr. Mendez says almost regretfully. "I'm actually looking for someone."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Héctor asks hesitantly, a pit of disbelief beginning to set in.  _Looking for someone? No, it can't be..._

"I apologize for any inconvenience, but it's a bit urgent. You see, I found a young child recently wandering close to the cemetery."

Héctor has to stop himself from at least coughing in surprise, widening his eyes or doing anything else that would make it seem like he was overreacting to the woman's ongoing question.

A young child...?

 _She's not asking about Dante,_  he attempts to calm himself.  _It can't be him she found._

Lots of children probably wandered close to the cemetery, especially during or just after  _Día de Muertos._

"He has a gray streak in his hair and is wearing a blue shirt with a yellow ball on it," Dr. Mendez continues. "He's also quite an...interesting case. I haven't been able to find his family and no one has come forward, so I decided he could stay with me for the time being."

Stay with her? Couldn't that get her into a lot of trouble if she didn't report him to the right authorities, especially since she's a doctor? Then again, he and Miguel hadn't sent in any reports, either. They could all get into a lot of trouble if it was found that they'd kept a 'lost' child in their care, so he keeps his mouth shut; he doesn't exactly blame her that she hadn't done so, obviously being baffled by the way Dante acts. Who knew what would happen to the poor dog-boy if authorities were alerted?

"What do you mean by 'interesting case?'" Héctor asks, though he has a feeling of what that could mean.

Dr. Mendez proves his theory to be correct when she answers, her expression amused yet fascinated at the same time. "His behavior is different from most children. He acts a lot...like a dog. He would be hard to miss if spotted running around on all fours."

Then again, how many children have a gray streak in their hair, not to mention a shirt with a yellow ball on it? Plus that they acted just like a  _dog?_

"Sorry, I haven't seen anyone like him," he says the best he can without giving himself away. "I can keep an eye out for him," he adds in an attempt to make his response seem less like he might know something.

Thankfully, it works.

 _"Gracias,"_  Dr. Mendez says with a small smile. "I wish I had taken a photo of him while I had the chance, but he would never sit still even for a moment. I also have my job."

Héctor allows a mild chuckle. "I can imagine," he says wistfully. Coco herself had never been able to sit still when she had been Dante's age. "My daughter..." He stops himself, immediately realizing his mistake.

Dr. Mendez blinks, obviously confused since Héctor had told her he had no family except for his parents who had passed on.

"She passed away before my parents," he backtracks uneasily, hoping she'll let it slide. This had been a part of his made-up story that he was going to tell Miguel's parents after Rosa had told him they might ask about them, anyway. "It was a part of the reason they never talked to me anymore...why I'm sort of a loner." At least some of the story was true.

"I'm so sorry," Dr. Mendez apologizes sincerely. Something about her expression changes, becoming more...sorrowful than Héctor had expected her to react after mentioning his daughter, but then it disappears just as quick. "I'd still like you to come in and get the X-rays I suggested just to be safe...even if it does seem like you feel better, you never know if a sickness will return full-force due to an underlying issue."

Héctor isn't quite sure what an X-ray is since he had never needed one when he was alive before, but he assumes it has something to do with his bones. Wasn't it like taking a photo as Miguel had just done on Rosa's cell phone..? He has to admit it would be interesting to see what his insides look like now that he has skin again; it would also be a kind of comfort to know that his bones are still here...just hidden so he can't see them.

And what were the odds of running into Dr. Mendez again apart from another appointment? Unless she would keep looking for Dante, he doubts he'll see her again. But then again, an appointment would also mean actually  _going_  to the doctor's...it wouldn't be from the comfort of the Rivera home, and he's not sure if he would be able to handle such a thing even if Miguel went with him.

"I'll be sure to get that appointment," Héctor 'agrees' somewhat painfully through his teeth.

Of course he won't; he can't. Not unless he wants the doctors to find out he came back to life. Who knew what would happen then? It's just not worth the risk.

Dr. Mendez smiles again, unaware of his lie. "I'll see you soon then, Señor García. You should also be receiving your blood test results, soon."

He'd forgotten about that. Héctor lets out a breath of air that he hadn't realized he'd been holding throughout most of their conversation. He isn't sure just  _how_  he'll be able to get through the rest of the year if not for his living family.

But besides that, what if he ran into Dr. Mendez again, even if he never would go to get an X-ray? How were they keep going to hide Dante from her if she kept looking? The former dog would just have to stay hidden inside the house, no matter how much he wouldn't like it. He would probably try to resist and wander off anyway, but Héctor was going to keep a close eye on him from now on.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair—he's still not used to the fact that it's actually attached to his head now. When Dr. Mendez is out of sight, he figures it's a good time to start heading back home. Maybe he can find a way to make it up to Enrique and Berto that he hadn't had any of the tequila they'd offered.

How was he going to keep doing this?

 _A year. It's only for a year,_  he tells himself over and over.

But a year is just so  _long..._ individual months are shorter.

One month down, eleven more to go.


End file.
